


Now and Then

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They go every year to be with each other, to love each other, to relax and recharge...and to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hold me...

**Author's Note:**

> Fervent thanks to ma_chelle for being my cheerleader, my co-conspirator, and doing such a great job keeping up with beta for two fics at once! You're amazing and I can't thank you enough. Huge thanks also to omgwtfskittles for the fantastic banner. It's like she reads my mind and puts out exactly the kind of banner I couldn't quite put into words. Chapter titles are from the lyrics of the Utada Hikaru song "Simple and Clean." Sorry I can't find a copy to upload. I like the original version of the song, "Hikari," better, but this suited the story.

The humid warmth of tropical beach-side air hits Bill like a moist kiss as he steps from the air-conditioned enclosure of the cab that brought them to the water's edge. Enthralled, Bill appraises the standalone bungalow, which rises up from the shimmer of turquoise water. Every year Bill thinks their New Year's vacation is the best it's ever been; that their time away from the world together can't possibly get better. Somehow, Tom has managed to outdo last year's with this lavish booking.

"It's perfect," he murmurs, and looks over his shoulder with excited eyes as Tom approaches. Bill's twin has a bag slung over his shoulder, an actual, physical key in his hand, and a butler in tow.

"They've got our stuff," Tom informs him, eyes fixed on him, one corner of his mouth doing that quirk that makes Bill tear his eyes away and look off to one side of the wooden pier as he begins to grin, too. "Let's check out our home for the week, shall we?"

He speaks in English, out of courtesy to the islander that follows bearing the weight of their luggage with the cabbie behind him hauling more. None of the staff speak German, which suits the twins fine.

Bill turns his attention to the unbelievable blue of the water and heads up the little strip of white-paved path that goes to the water's edge and the wooden pier that leads out to their bungalow. "You really know how to treat a man, Tom," Bill says, switching to German, pleased all over again that Tom has found something even better than last year's romantic getaway.

"Bill," Tom says, in a complaining tone. "They can't speak the language but they might still understand the tone..."

"So fucking paranoid," Bill grumbles, tugging his shades off with an impatient hand as he steps into the long shadow cast by the bungalow. The sun was beginning to tilt toward the horizon in the distance, but it was still mid-afternoon.

It's been a long flight and Bill is tired, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and a long-awaited sleep, but a familiar heat has begun to stoke his belly now that he's laid eyes on their secluded corner of the resort. It has been days and he is – they are – more than a little pent up.

"That's more like my grumpy little brother," Tom teases, reaching up to tousle Bill's gelled, ferociously back-combed pompadour in passing.

Bill can't manage more than an exasperated noise in his throat and a half-hearted kick in the direction of Tom's ankle as Tom passes him, moving ahead to unlock the door. It's hot out and he's worn a black t-shirt with a dark grey pullover on top of that, but Bill is basking in the heat. Winter is his enemy and this is the perfect time of year, so far as he is concerned, to go tropical.

Once Tom gets the door open, Bill crowds after him in a trice, dropping his handbag to one side, bracing himself against a chair to rid himself of his heels. He sighs happily as his feet encounter the cool tile of the entryway. Trusting Tom to handle the tip, Bill begins to wander through the luxurious two-person bungalow with appreciative sighs and 'ahh's' and captivated little claps of his hands. The bungalow offers a straight shot from a dining area beside the kitchen to a wraparound living room area, and outside of that is a back deck. Bill peers through the seaside window at the view, which is nothing but ocean so far as the eye could see, dotted here and there with the upright feather-light shapes of white sails in the distance.

"Now this is a vacation," Bill murmurs appreciatively, leaning over and resting his hands on the low wooden sill.

Exuding another happy sigh, Bill drops onto the couch beside the window, tucking his legs up and going limp against the plush cushions that welcome him into their embrace. His head lifts as the door opens and shuts in the distance. For a long moment, Bill considers closing his eyes and resting his head back for a nap, awkward angle or no. Tom won't hold it against him; they've been awake going on twenty-four hours now and all-nighters aren't as fun as they'd been at fifteen. His stomach is still fluttering pleasantly with arousal, though, and he hasn't yet explored the final rooms. Bill opens his eyes and sheds his pullover, pattering around the corner. Down the hall, a floor to ceiling window opens up on another angle of the fantastic view.

Bill stands transfixed for a moment, admiring the layered shades of blue that stack up beyond the narrow deck that surrounds their bungalow. The nearest water that embraces the deck is a pale, pure turquoise. It shades outward to a deep, rich midnight blue in the distance. Bill can barely tear his eyes from the sight.

"Hey," a soft voice greets him near his left ear, and a kiss drops onto his neck.

"It's beautiful," Bill whispers, overcome. Every aspect of the bungalow has all the trappings of luxury and the best part is that Tom chose this particular place for them.

"No, you," Tom counters. There is a grin in his voice. He winds an arm around Bill's middle from behind and brushes the sparse tail of his hair aside, kissing the fading mark of their logo tattoo now. "You want to settle in, take a nap, or..."

"Or shower and take a nap," Bill says, his lips curling in a secretive smile, unseen by Tom. He pats his twin's hand and breaks away, moving for the closest open doorway. His little grin broadens when he hears Tom's disconsolate noise behind him. "We've been up for so long..." He draws out the phrase and casts a brief look over his shoulder at Tom as he finds the first bedroom.

Tom's dark-eyed gaze brightens as their eyes lock. "You want to," he states, following Bill into the room with its enormous bed to one side, the sweeping ocean view taking up the entire side of the room that faces them.

"Hmm, I don't know, I'm awfully tired," Bill says, affecting a yawn. He enjoys the darkness in Tom's eyes as Tom stalks toward him, pulling the white cap off his head and tossing it for a nearby low divan. He reaches up with his other hand to grasp the nape of his shirt and pulls it off one-handed, revealing rock-solid abs and small but tight pectorals.

"You want it," Tom repeats, low and certain. The tip of his tongue swipes out to wet his bottom lip and he prowls toward Bill.

"Maybe not more than I want a nap," Bill teases, licking his own lips. He backs up until the bed meets his calves, and sinks down with a coy smile. The low but constant smolder in his belly is building up to a good-sized fire.

"Maybe not," Tom says, "but I want to suck your cock right now, and what if I'm not in the mood after a nap?"

Bill's dick stirs at those words. He leans back on the bed on both hands, trying to bite his lip to still the smile that wants to break loose. "Are you sure? Tom, I haven't showered since yesterday," he says, tipping his head to one side.

"Then I'll really taste you," Tom says, kneeling before him.

A soft moan slips free of Bill's control as he watches Tom settle before him on his knees. He'd never said he doesn't like it, but Bill knows it isn't Tom's sex act of choice. Bill can spend an hour slurping happily on Tom's cock, but the occasions Tom goes down on him are to be treasured.

Their eyes meet as Tom drags his zipper down. Tom gives him an impish little smile as though he notices the way Bill's dick has stirred in his boxers. He reaches a hand in and rolls his knuckles over the hardening lump.

"Or did you want a nap?" Tom asks innocently, sitting back on his heels after exhaling a few heated breaths over the growing tent in Bill's boxers.

"No, no, this is good!" Bill says, reaching down to grab a handful of Tom's braids and pull him back to where he wants, hovering over his groin. "As long as you don't mind I haven't, uh, shaved in a few days."

Nodding, Tom licks his lips. "I'll manage." He finesses the tip of Bill's dick from his boxers and licks around the head before suckling the whole thing into his mouth, tucking teeth behind his lips.

"Ohh," Bill exclaims and repeats it, louder, when Tom inhales and works his mouth down over the length of Bill's cock as he strips boxers down with both hands.

Tom's mouth is making soft, wetly obscene sounds around his dick and Bill begins to shove a fist against his parted lips to quiet himself when it hits him that he doesn't have to. There is no need to be quiet, because it took a cab ride to get out to the seclusion of their bungalow and they're out on the water, no one else around for quite a ways.

Bill moans his appreciation. He tilts his hips and gives a little scream when Tom swallows around his dick, lips and tongue gliding over and back and pursuing his oral fixation to the most blissful conclusion.

Sometimes Tom likes to work Bill's cock until he's good and wet; until Bill's toes curl and his balls draw tight and a moan leaves him in one long, sustained note. Today, though, Tom pulls off, lavishing a broad lick to the head and one last swipe of his tongue around foreskin before placing a kiss to Bill's thigh.

"Feeling more...alert?" Tom asks him, tracing a hand over Bill's thigh, skirting his hip, and delving to grasp Bill's butt.

Bill reaches down to grasp his own cock in a lazy hand. Obliging, he tips onto his back on the bed with a laugh as Tom moves over him, climbing atop him and looking down at him with bright, hungry eyes. "Feeling like I want your cock in me, you mean?" he says with a low laugh.

Tom hovers over him, his expression anxious, etched in desire.

"I dunno..." Bill draws the word out, even as he reaches up to undo Tom's belt and send it slithering to the floor. "The lube's all the way in the other room..." He's packed away two entire new bottles. Just in case. They are both young and horny, after all.

Tom's mouth quirks and he reaches into his pocket, dropping a half-raveled tube to Bill's stomach.

"Oh!" Bill exclaims, and lifts arms and legs to wrap Tom in a koala hug. "Then, yes! Yes, please. Sex now and a little later on and some swimming and a shower..."

Tom laughs, free and energetic, the sound relaxed as Bill hasn't heard in ages. "That and a nap, too." He drops a kiss on Bill's mouth; stays there.

"Mmm," Bill agrees against his lips. "But cock right now."

"My cock," Tom agrees, and rubs it against Bill through their clothes.

Bill's eyes flare and he catches fire from the look in Tom's eyes above him as much as the way they're grinding together. "In me, no waiting," he murmurs, just to see Tom's eyes go from turned on to desperate.

"A little waiting," Tom corrects, and grabs Bill by the shoulders, hauling him further up the bed with easy strength that makes Bill cry out and – he'll never admit it aloud – harden even more at the easy display of Tom's muscular potential. "Gotta stretch you, it's been a while."

Bill wriggles and stretches and purrs as Tom pulls his clothes off, and rubs his hands over his own flesh as Tom bares it. He grabs his cock and strokes it with a rough hand, marveling over how several days, nearly a week, is 'a while' to them now. He watches with hooded, eager eyes as Tom strips at the foot of the bed, tossing his clothes aside like discarded skins before crawling back toward him, hovering over Bill, his expression managing to be lewd and somehow shy at the same time.

"Don't take too long," Bill urges him, tucking his legs up toward his body and using them for leverage to lift his hips. "I want to feel you, Tom."

Tom ducks his head as though that's too much, and licks his lips again. He's nodding as he reaches for the lube and he squeezes out a fair portion, smearing it down below Bill's balls until it makes him whimper and spread his legs wider, urging.

"Fuck me with that finger, or..." Bill trails off, unable to think of something sufficiently heinous to complete the threat. 'I won't let you' is baseless and they both know it; Tom's going to have him now and have him later and probably after dinner for good measure. Just so they remember; so they can both really feel it.

Tom gives a short laugh as though intuiting his thoughts and prods Bill, circling more lube around his hole before slipping his finger in. Bill grips it immediately, making Tom catch his breath and palm Bill's thigh, pushing one leg outward until it's nearly flat against the bed.

"Behave," Tom enjoins him, and pushes the finger deeper.

"Or you'll what?" Bill taunts.

Tom's eyes flick up to him briefly. He curves his long finger upward, seeking. "Or I'll spank you," he says, with a decisive nod.

"Oh, promise?" is all Bill has to say to that, and he lapses back against the bedspread and looks up at the whitewashed ceiling, the afterimage of Tom swimming before his eyes as his body is pressed into, opened up.

Tom's breathing is rough and fast by the time he's got three fingers in Bill, and the question of whether it's enough is in the air between them.

Bill reaches down to grab one of his folded legs and guide it up toward his chest, opening himself even more. "Give me your dick," he says it like an order, because he won't beg but he's very good at telling Tom what to do.

Whether he'll listen is another matter, of course, but Tom will do this because he wants this. He always has.

Hasn't always let himself, though; Bill's thoughts drift back to the first time, back then. Not so long ago but it seems like forever ago now, his current happiness sweeping through the pages of memory to recolor even the dark despair of his seventeen-year old self in a brighter light. He looks up at Tom with a happy smile, re-anchored in the moment as Tom hovers above him, setting his blunt tip against Bill's so-thoroughly prepared entrance.

"I love you," Tom tells him, eyes soft around the edges of his wondering expression, and Bill can only grin up at him, relieved and overwhelmed.

"Show me," Bill says, and Tom pushes inside.

The first thrust is so good that Bill tightens down and Tom's groan tears up the air. He strokes Bill's face and neck, plying already-damp hair away from his eyes and mouth, and moves over him, bringing their bodies together.

"Yes," Bill moans. This is it; this is what he's been wanting all week. He loves everything they do, whether it's oral or hand jobs or messing around in the shower or even falling into an exhausted sleep together in Bill's bed after a hard day's work, but he craves this. The closeness; the way Tom moves over him, wanting. They need each other's skin and taste and everything. He never stops wanting Tom inside him physically, an outward expression of the way Tom is part of everything that he is.

Tom bites his lip and hovers over him, thighs pressing against Bill's ass as he crowds him into a new angle, rubbing his cock so deliciously deep within Bill that all Bill can do is vocalize his appreciation.

"There...yes...ahh, Tom! You're fucking me so good," Bill informs Tom. He's hardly motionless, either. He hooks one of his legs over the small of Tom's back and rubs there, heel finding the divot at the base of his twin's spine. His other leg is hiked up over Tom's shoulder and his toes flex as Tom pulls out and drives into him again.

"So good," Tom echoes, his face sweaty and expression blissed out, as though he's already enjoyed his climax and isn't pursuing it now with tight, hard thrusts.

It's so much, almost a little painful, but Bill welcomes it. He loves it when Tom's so crazy for his body that he fucks him into the mattress, until they're both hoarse from yelling. It's so quiet here, not even the high-pitched hum of electronics to compete with the sound of Tom's cock going in and out of him, and Bill's low, almost constant moans.

Tom pants with his mouth open above him and he's got that look now, glazed and half gone. He's about to come and Bill has to reach up and run his fingertips down Tom's sweating face. Tom catches at his hand, kissing the fingers. His hips don't miss a beat, thrusting into Bill with that same beautiful slap-slap that kicks them into a higher gear. Tom groans and nips his fingers, banging into him hard.

Bill moans louder as Tom draws his fingers into his mouth, tongue twirling around the digits, and their bodies slam together. The sounds of Tom's pelvis meeting his ass and the low groan wrenching free of Tom's throat are the sweetest music, as good as hitting the perfect note. Tom's tongue rasps over his fingers and he pumps against Bill's ass, delivering a series of strokes right to Bill's prostate whether he knows or not. Bill cries out and arches up, the tip of his dick skidding over his belly as he starts to come. He reaches down and aims, fumbling to press his cock against Tom's stomach and spill his climax between them.

White bursts against his eyelids are all he sees for a moment, until his eyes flutter and he's flopping on his back, looking up into Tom's eyes, tightening down. Tom's eyes go wide before hazing shut and he braces over Bill, his mouth still forming a tight seal over the fingers prisoned between his lips as he gives Bill the last few deep thrusts, keeping him mostly filled with cock.

"Ahh...ahhh," Tom groans, still moving.

"Shit," Bill grunts, because his leg is pressed so high it's nearly up against his own shoulder. "Ah...ahh, damn it, get off."

Tom's lips twitch against his skin. "Just did."

"Right, now _move_ ," Bill says, and gasps relief when Tom does.

Tom sprawls out beside him with an immensely satisfied expression as though what they've just done is entirely his own doing.

"Yes, Tom, it was amazing," Bill says in a faintly sarcastic tone before Tom can even say a word.

"I know," Tom says without a trace of modesty. He breaks into a stupid little grin and reaches over to ruffle Bill's disheveled hair. "Because it was with you, yeah?"

Bill stretches out over the bed and tries to disguise his thrilled smile by mashing his face into a pillow, but his eyes are grinning, too, so he knows that Tom can tell. "Okay, so this is the sex bed," he decides. "Because we just christened it. We'll sleep in the other."

Tom slits his eyes over at Bill and groans, scrubbing a hand down his front. "You really think we're going to be able to keep the two separate?" His smirk is knowing.

"Well," Bill says, hefting himself up on one elbow. "We can try." He stoops to press a kiss to Tom's cheek, then rolls for the closest side of the bed. His butt is tingling, letting him know they overdid it maybe a tad, but he can never feel anything but pleased when Tom bangs him that good.

"Where you goin'?" Tom wants to know.

"Shower," Bill says over his shoulder. "Then I think I'll nap." He loves sex with Tom, but unless a condom is involved, he usually has to go clean up right away, after.

He half-expects Tom to follow him, but he doesn't. It's all right, because Bill knows where he'll be when they wake.


	2. ...whatever lies beyond this morning...

"I wish," Bill said direly, "they could have booked us for separate vacations, instead of separate rooms."

Tom's head jerked up as he moved to join Bill on the wide stone terrace that opened out onto the beach side of the resort, then his brows slanted down in a glare.

"We're seventeen," Bill continued. "Hardly children anymore." He pulled his dark shades down over his eyes.

Tom began to walk toward the flight of shallow steps that led down to the path that wound through a cluster of palm trees toward the low shapes of the bungalows. "Maybe you shouldn't keep acting like one, then."

The only response for this was to flip Tom off, but his brother's back was already turned and so he missed the dramatic effect of the angry gesture. Bill glowered at Tom's back, hitched his own shoulder bag higher, and sauntered off in that direction as though he'd been planning to head that way all along. Which, of course, he had been.

Bill tromped along the white path toward the bungalows. It glittered below his feet and he slowed his steps, taking a closer look. The path seemed to be composed of crushed, nacreous shells and he lingered for a moment, fascinated by the sparkle that the play of sunlight evoked.

A tight, angry sensation returned to his chest as he looked up and caught sight of Tom again, hovering outside the door to the double bungalow as though he weren't waiting, though Bill knew he was. He didn't want to be without Tom, to go on a vacation for a whole week without him – not really. 

Perhaps that was part of the problem.

"Could've gone in without me," Bill muttered as he caught up. "I've got my own key, you know."

"Yeah, you've got your own everything, don't you, Bill?" Tom returned. "Look, I know you've been pissed at me lately--"

"Pissed?" Bill began, steamed that, once again, Tom was misunderstanding everything. It had to be deliberate.

"Don't fucking interrupt!" Tom snapped at him. "All I want to say is, I want to have a nice vacation. That's all."

He turned his back on Bill as Bill fumed, folding his arms so tightly across his chest that the bones ached in protest. Bill dredged up all of the most awful, hurtful things he could think of to throw at Tom, to make him as miserable as Tom had been making him for months, years, but in the end he couldn't do it.

There were some words that, once spoken, couldn't be taken back.

"You have your nice vacation," Bill said, speaking mostly to the welcome mat outside the bungalow as the door swung inward and Tom disappeared into cool, air-conditioned darkness. "And I'll hole up in my room and drink myself to oblivion, I guess."

Tom ignored him and moved further into the bungalow, flipping lights on as he went. They explored the place in mutual silence for several moments and Tom settled his bag on the bed of the first bedroom he encountered, turning to raise his brows at Bill in wordless inquiry.

Bill shrugged and moved on, finding the other bedroom. He left the light off, shut the door so quietly that he barely heard the click, and dumped his bag on a nearby chair. With a low groan he cast himself onto the bed. He was fucking things up again.

He always fucked things up.

Most people would be happy with everything Bill had – a band with a major label contract, a second album that they were finishing up that their producers and label were excited over, throngs of screaming fans, not to mention the money to take a spectacular vacation to a getaway resort like the Maldives. For Bill, it wasn't enough.

There was something he'd wanted for years, and Tom had been denying it to them both.

A knock sounded at the door in the distance, the outer door to the bungalow, and Bill shifted around on the bed. That would be the rest of their luggage, most of it his. He stayed where he was, head smushed against the pillow as he waited for a moment to see if Tom would get up to take care of it – which, of course, he did.

Rolling onto his back, Bill stared up at the ceiling. He didn't think he was being overly unreasonable in his expectations, even if he was putting a dark blight on their new year's vacation – likely the only break they'd have all year, if things went as well as everyone hoped. After all, Tom was the one who'd come to him a few days ago, yet again, trying to resolve things in his own way – and only getting Bill's hopes up over something that apparently he could never have.

After a while, the light at the edge of the curtain along his room's window began to fade, becoming grey and dim and heralding the passing of day. Bill got up and stole outside, checking through a cracked door before emerging from his room, and went to fetch his luggage.

He was still so mad at Tom.

"You going to avoid me for the whole week?" the low voice made Bill jump when he was halfway through the main room, heading with purposeful strides for the place where his luggage had been piled beyond the entryway.

Bill swung around. Tom had folded himself into a chair on the far side of the living room, still in his over-sized jeans and shirt. He was in the darkest corner of the room, unmoving, and so Bill had missed seeing him. "At this point? Yeah," Bill said defiantly.

"Why?"

Bill ignored the hurt in Tom's tone, focusing on the bewilderment. "Oh, I don't know, Tom; maybe it's got something to do with how you're totally fine with screwing around with me one minute – do what we used to do, I think is how you put it – and then you'll be all over the first bitch who hangs on your every little word the next minute."

"That's not what I--" Tom began to object, and shook his head. "You know what, Bill? I think you have a hearing problem."

"Better than having an insensitivity problem," Bill shot back. "Watch out, Tom; if you come back from vacation with the clap, Mom will be pissed." He shouldered a few bags and scurried for his room while Tom's face turned red as he tried to think of a rejoinder.

"You suck!" Tom burst out, as Bill closed in on his room's door.

"Not anymore," Bill said sourly, and slammed the door behind him. It was so satisfying he thought about opening it for the sole purpose of slamming it again.

They hadn't done it – messed around together – for almost two years. Not since the first fight about what they did together in private, in the night.

For Tom to come to him and put it out there like a peace offering...Bill scrubbed impatiently at his stinging eyes. They couldn't go back to what they had been, together. And yet Bill couldn't move forward.

Bill spent his ferocious energy unpacking every piece of luggage in his room, realized that a good half of his hygiene products were stashed in the rest of his luggage out there in the main room, and flung himself onto the bed again with a low groan. He didn't want to see Tom at all, right now; he was mortally sure he'd start throwing things. Giving Tom a scalp wound with a picture frame sounded murderously appealing. He'd regret it later, though. Seeing Tom in pain was worse than his own, even when they were this mad at each other.

There was a private hot tub attached to their bungalow. As it got darker outside, Bill decided it might be nice to make use of it, and at least try to relax for a while. Bill dug up his blue-patterned white swim trunks and sat on the bed morosely. In the back of his head, like the constant beat of his pulse, was a part of him wondering where Tom was, what he was doing. Whether he felt angry and alone the way Bill did. Even with a single wall between them, when he could get up and go look for himself, it was still there, reflexive as blinking or breathing. Tom was too much a part of him, yet not nearly enough.

Bill took a deep, trembling breath and began to sing 'Heilig,' the first of several songs that had welled up inside him and burst onto scrawled bits of paper when the feelings inside of him would no longer be contained. It was everything he was, and everything Tom didn't want.

Without the backing of instruments his voice sounded loud in the wide, white-painted bedroom. It startled him so badly that he almost broke off his song. He picked it up again after a slight falter, then his voice strengthened as he reached the refrain.

The door to his room swung open without so much as a knock or a by-your-leave.

Bill cut off mid-note, shifting on the bed to furrow his brow at the intruder.

"Do you really feel like that?" Tom murmured, approaching Bill's bed, his face cast mostly in shadow by the brim of his cap. "Like you're going to leave me? Like that's okay? You think I'd do that...that I'd just go on?"

Bill thinned his mouth to a frown to prevent his lower lip from wobbling. "You're the one leaving me, Tom," he replied. He popped up from the edge of the bed to pace restlessly. "I mean, you already did, you know?"

"That's not true!" Tom exclaimed, lashing a hand out to one side. "You're twisting things around again, Bill. We're together more than anyone I know."

Bill arched a brow and paused mid-pace, staring Tom down. "Well, there's being together, and there's...what we do."

"Which isn't much of anything right now," Tom said with a humorless laugh. "If you meant..."

"I did," Bill confirmed, shrugging. "Whose fault is that?"

Tom's nostrils flared, but he didn't answer.

"Tell me you need it too," Bill demanded, sitting back on the bed, shoulders slumping. "Tell me I'm not the only one that feels this way; that you need to touch me, too. Like...like I thought you used to."

"What?" Tom exclaimed, dropping onto the bed beside him with a shocked thud. He reached out a hand, then clenched it and set his hand against his own thigh. "Of course I do! That's...fuck, that's what makes this so hard. Why do you...why do you think I keep coming back?"

Bill shrugged listlessly, picking at a thread on the crisp white linen that covered the bed. "Dunno, because you couldn't find some chick to suck your dick that night?"

Tom's mouth flattened to a hard line. "That's a shitty thing to say, Bill."

"I'm sorry," Bill said, and even kind of meant it. He laid down on the bed, shifting onto his side while still facing Tom. He was sick of the fighting, again. He wished Tom would stop fighting so hard. "I'm so tired."

"I miss it," Tom said quietly into the empty space between them. He reached down to stroke Bill's face with a light touch. "I still want to be with you that way."

Bill pushed his hand away. "You know what I want," he said, voice strained. "I don't want to mess around with kid stuff anymore, Tom, sneaking around, giggling over handjobs and the occasional blow."

"We can't," Tom replied, soft but insistent about it.

There was a mechanical nature to his denial and Bill sensed weakness. He was almost certain Tom was saying no because he thought he should, rather than because he wanted to.

"I want to go all the way," Bill said, getting it out in the open again. "I want to have real sex, Tom, not just fooling around."

Tom sucked a breath in and his fingers curled over the coverlet. He began to pull his hand away. "Bill..." he began, and cleared his throat. "It's not...it's just not...no."

Was that a hint of hesitance? Bill looked up at Tom, grabbing at his shirt and teasing it upward, revealing a slice of his belly and the star that everyone, including Tom – especially Tom – tended to fixate on.

"What are you...?" Tom began, and appeared to stop breathing for a moment.

"You can still have your girls," Bill said, low and sulky. "Just, I need it, Tomi. I want to be with you that way."

"We can't," Tom said desperately, and his fingers resumed the light back and forth touch over Bill's temple, stroking down his jaw. "Bill, you know we can't." He reached down with his other hand, grasping Bill's shirt, and tugged it back down until it covered his stomach.

"Get out," Bill whispered, pulling away with a jerk. He flipped onto his opposite side on the bed and crawled up to grab a pillow to haul over his head. "Just get out, Tom. I'm...tired. Going to sleep."

He thought for a moment that Tom would stay, but then the bed creaked under Tom's weight as Tom got up. He let himself out of the room quietly. Bill tried to tell himself it didn't matter; he would know where to find Tom when he woke.


	3. ...is a little later on

Bill wakes up to a light touch stroking over his face, smoothing long strands of dark forelock up off his forehead into the greater mass of his hair. His mouth curls in a sleepy smile and he opens his eyes, looking up at Tom in pleased wonder. He's been dreaming of the past, and thought he would wake sorrowful, but Tom is here and that's all he needs to be happy again. At some point the light has fled, and the Tom propped above him, tracing out the contours of his face, is painted in shadow.

"Bill," Tom begins, his voice wavering ever so slightly, making Bill push up on one elbow and cause Tom's hand to palm his cheek.

"Mm, hi," Bill says, his voice hoarse with sleep. He tips his head to the side, kisses the heel of Tom's hand, and nudges him inquiringly. "Everything okay?" Tom is all but thrumming beside him with unnamed tension.

"I need it," Tom says, biting his lip. His voice cracks a little as he continues, "Please, I want it. We haven't...in forever." His eyes darken, pupils swirling wide with pre-emptive arousal.

Bill takes in a leisurely breath, filling his lungs as his eyes dart from Tom's eyes to the full line of his lower lip and back up to his eyes again. "Mm, it has been a while, hasn't it, Tomi?" He doesn't need to be told to know what Tom's wanting.

It's been building up for weeks, coming to a peak in the past few days. Tom wants it from Bill the way he usually gives it to Bill. They're the same, after all; Tom has the same cravings that Bill does even though their typical arrangement is Tom's cock in Bill's ass.

Bill has seen it in the stress lines that gather at the corner of Tom's eyes; in the way he licks his lips more often; the way his gaze drifts more often than not to the inseam of Bill's jeans; small gestures like spastic fingers and a jittery knee, combined with other tell-tale cues, subtle hints. Tom doesn't simply want sex. He wants Bill to give it to him. To that end, Bill has stripped his nails of polish and clipped them short. It was ostensibly to give his worn-down nail beds a couple days' break during vacation, but it's got the happy dual purpose of making it easier to finger himself - or Tom. Not to mention, Tom won't let Bill put fingers up him unless the nails are clipped to the quick, no matter how he's sworn he can be so careful.

It's hard for Tom to talk about it; he's all swagger and rep, though not with Bill, but there's still so much that goes unsaid. Most times, Bill is so dominant in every aspect of their lives that it's seemed only natural to offer up his ass in bed. It's the way they fit together. They both certainly get a good deal of enjoyment out of it. The first time Tom had broached the subject of trying it the other way around, Bill had been confused, then somewhat skeptical.

The older they get, the more Bill recognizes Tom really does enjoy it, too. On certain special occasions, or none at all.

"You want it, Tomi?" Bill questions, rousing from his prone position and drawing his legs beneath him. He stretches, reaching out for Tom at the same time.

Tom nods, dipping his head in a bashful withdrawal. "Need to feel you," he says, breath already quickening.

Bill surges forward into his twin's arms, covering Tom's mouth in a quick but needy kiss. "I want to feel you, too," he breathes, and nips at Tom's jaw. He pets down Tom's sculpted front musculature, the tight fit body that Tom usually puts on display only for him, and kisses his mouth harder as Tom's lips part for him.

Thighs splay out, making room for him between them and Bill swamps his twin, toppling him over onto disheveled white linen that was unraveled during restless sleep. Tom's eyes are dark, wide and open to him, full of trust.

"Not here," Bill says, when Tom mumbles something and dips a hand below the waistband of his ratty track pants, seeking and tugging on his cock. "This is the sleeping bed, remember?"

"I need it now," Tom replies, and pushes his lip ring back and forth with his tongue. He's already beginning to pant.

Bill gives him a sly grin and straddles his lap, pushing their cocks together. "How bad?" he wants to know. He grabs Tom through his loose boxers, enjoying the way the hard flesh nudges against his palm as Tom shifts beneath him.

Color rises in Tom's face and he looks off to the side, where the faintest slices of darkening blue water and sky peep through the mostly-shuttered blinds. "I washed myself really good," he mumbles.

That makes Bill break into a delighted grin.

"I want a little taste, first," Bill tells him, patting a familiar hand over the bulge in Tom's shorts.

Tom says nothing, only leans back even more, tongue poking his lip and his eyes wide, dark. Waiting.

With a low, pleased noise Bill slides down Tom's front, pressing brief kisses along the way. He dips a tongue into Tom's navel during the course of his exploration, making Tom squirm and bat at his head with helpless huffs of laughter. "Not sexy...ahh...Bill, tickling isn't sexy!"

"I'll show you sexy," Bill says, drawing his tongue down the flat of Tom's belly toward his groin.

He closes his eyes and enjoys the way Tom's breathing roughens; rubs his cheek along the top edge of the hair that covers Tom's groin. They're both breathing faster as Bill nuzzles against Tom through his boxers. He can tell Tom is clean, freshly-showered. The scent is sharp with soap down here as well as the rising primal thrill of Tom's arousal. Bill's mouth moistens with saliva as he takes Tom's boxers down just enough to get him access to what he needs.

As Tom's cock clears the fabric Bill grasps at it, wanking foreskin back and forth gently. He pulls it down taut and licks at the exposed head. Tom makes a sound, small but pleasured, as Bill circles his tongue around the rim and takes him fully into his mouth.

"Ahh...ahh," Tom makes enough noise to assure Bill of his appreciation. They're both quiet by habit, even when they can be assured of total privacy like this. They've learned to show each other how much they like it - the way Tom is now, fingers going back and forth over his scalp, as well as other things. His hips pulse ever so slightly; his thigh muscles jump where his skin is pressed to Bill's.

Bill forms a tight seal with his lips and works them over the tip of Tom's dick, spreading wetness around. Inhaling Tom's scent, he makes small happy noises of his own as he plumps his lips around Tom's cock and glides down, taking half of Tom's dick in one go.

Tom whimpers, the pads of his fingers scrabbling over Bill's scalp. "Bill..." the name leaves him in a desperate exhalation.

"Mmm," Bill responds, sucking Tom's dick and busily working his tongue stud against the underside.

He knows what Tom likes and he pulls out all the stops this morning, sucking and stroking and tonguing until Tom is a panting mess beneath him. He loves sucking cock, Tom's cock; he'd do it all morning if he could, even past the point where jaw fatigue will make him complain later. He runs his thumbs down behind Tom's balls, massaging them along the way, and strokes his thumbs over the piercing behind his balls, nudging it again and again as Tom's cock goes in and out of his mouth. He licks and sucks Tom's dick, runs his tongue up and down it, opens his throat and takes it in until Tom moves against him and gently fucks his mouth. He loves the taste of it, the smell of it.

By the time Tom is tugging at Bill's hair and making tiny desperate sounds, Bill is just about ready to release his prize. He stretches his lips and runs them down over Tom's cock as far as he can go, breathes out through his nose, stems back up and swipes his tongue around the head as it's still in his mouth. He digs his tongue into the crease at the tip and laps up the liquid that's gathering there for him.

"Please," Tom whispers, tugging harder on his hair. "Please, Bill, god, need you to fuck me, nnng, want you in me so bad." He releases Bill's hair and cups the hollows of Bill's cheeks. He keeps whispering please, please.

Bill pops his mouth off the tip of Tom's dick and looks up at him through his lashes. "Maybe I want to suck your cock until you come, then fuck you until you're hard again," he counters. He loves making Tom spill on his tongue, in his mouth.

Tom's eyes go dark. "Get in me," he says hoarsely, and locks his legs over Bill's, heels rubbing over naked skin. "Don't make me wait that long."

Bill grins at his fervor. He bends his head to give Tom's cock another long lick, base to tip, and inhales, promising himself he'll do that later. Suck Tom off until he comes.

"We really should move this to the other bed," Bill says thoughtfully.

Tom groans and drops his head back. "Whatever, god, whatever you want. Whatever gets your dick in me the fastest, okay?"

Bill grins up at him, delighted that Tom is so gone for him. "Lube's in the other room anyhow, isn't it?"

Tom pants, reaches down to pull at his cock and press the sticky-leaking head against Bill's collarbone with each upstroke, and tongues at his lip in a quick, anxious gesture. "You've got some in your bag," he says with a jerk of his chin. "I know you packed more."

"We'll make a mess of the sheets," Bill says, knowing Tom likes to sleep on clean linen. The bed is still so crisp, white sheets still stretched taut, barely disturbed by his nap.

"Put a towel down?" Tom suggests.

Bill chuckles and presses a kiss to Tom's flat stomach. He draws a line with his tongue and breathes on him, delighted by the way muscles tremble under his touch. "Okay," he says, "but it's your job to aim for it."

He gets up naked from the bed and saunters toward the bathroom, picking up speed as cool, conditioned air embraces his body. Bill reaches down to touch his cock with a curious hand and pets and strokes his erection as he finds a towel and drapes it over his arm, excavates the lube from an inner pocket of his luggage, and hurries back to bed. He grins over at his twin, unsurprised to find Tom palming his own cock with easy, unhurried tugs.

"Get that sexy little ass back here," Tom tells him, raising a brow and lifting his hips. It makes his dick jut forward in a pretty obvious invitation.

"You want to fuck this little ass?" Bill responds, dropping a hand to one small rear cheek and cocking his hip out. He's thin, some would say painfully thin, and he knows he forgets to eat too often and eats too much junk when he remembers to put something in his mouth, but he feels fine. He's always got plenty of energy, for work and for sex.

Besides, Tom finds him sexy and that's what matters.

"Later," Tom responds, lifting his chin. He crooks a hand toward Bill. "Come here."

"You want me to fuck you, or you want to make love?" Bill wants to know. He drops the towel to the bed, still folded, and places the lube atop it before crawling toward Tom on all fours. He leans on Tom's hips and bends his head again, nuzzling near Tom's cock, inhaling deeply. When he looks up it's to fix an expectant look on Tom's face.

Tom ducks his head and looks away, embarrassed. They talk around the subject, never addressing it directly. Bill knows what Tom means and it's hard for Tom to express himself when it comes to this, being vulnerable. Wanting it.

"I want to see your face," Tom says, and that's Bill's answer.

Bill tongues his lip and nods, appraising the lean length of Tom sprawled out before him. He likes Tom to do him that way when they're coupled and Tom is on him, but for some reason he prefers to mount Tom and give it to him hard from behind when he's penetrating Tom. He remembers the last time they did it that way, Tom catching him by surprise and drawing Bill into his little-used bedroom at their home, bending over for him. Tom had been so anxious for it he'd presented a prepped hole for Bill's dick, and Bill had wanted to really dominate him so it had worked out all around. He'd fucked the come out of Tom and gotten him to yell, that rarest of accomplishments.

Bill is feeling sweet and loving right now, so that works out in another way. He wants to be tender with Tom, stroke into him until his cock is snugged up against that spot, ride into him with short rocking thrusts until they both reach their pleasure. They really do share their emotions the way a singleton could never understand. When Bill is happy, Tom is. When Tom is upset, Bill can't help but follow. Tom is feeling pliant and Bill wants to move over and into him, fill him where he's wanting.

"Lie back," Bill instructs, reaching for the towel. He spreads it over the pristine coverlet as Tom lifts up for him. Doing it like this, Tom will come on his own belly - and Bill's - but the towel will catch the lube, and Bill's release, and anything else.

The lube is room temperature and Tom is relaxed. Bill spends enough time pressing his fingers in, one by one, to make sure Tom is ready before he rides Tom's legs up and takes him with his dick. They both pause, holding their breath at Bill's initial entry. The head and a little more are just inside and Tom's eyes are locked on his, open and trusting.

Even before Tom begins to nod Bill is working his cock in further, fitting his thighs to the underside of Tom's ass and biting his lip at the sheer molten sensation of Tom gripping him, hot like a furnace and so tight. He can barely move, Tom is squeezing him so hard.

Bill waits. He turns his head and kisses the inside of Tom's knee. He rocks against Tom's ass in shallow pulses, not thrusting but sort of rotating against him, skin to skin. Tom gasps and the resistance leaves him. Bill grins and sees its echo on Tom's face as he moves over Tom to join their bodies fully.

"Yes, ahh, yes," Tom whispers low encouragement as Bill gives him slow, shallow thrusts; in and out and in. They bite their lips in unison as Bill braces himself over Tom, jacking his legs higher and moving faster. The urgency passes back and forth between them like a current.

Before Bill knows it he's crowding up against Tom's ass with short, choppy thrusts that resonate between them. It's so quiet that all Bill can hear is the waves lapping around their bungalow and the smack of his balls as he fucks steadily into Tom's ass.

Bill takes a deep breath and smells sex and Tom. He's in there, too, exuding his own mix of sweat and sex and Bill and mingling it with Tom's. He wants to do it forever, pump against and into Tom and he backs off, easing into long slow strokes. He grabs Tom's shoulders and presses their bodies together; gets into him so deep they can share a loving kiss full of tongue, swap spit and release breathy little moans into one another's mouths.

When Tom squeezes down around him as though to remind him they're connected, Bill tosses his head back and lifts himself up, starting to tease Tom with long strokes of cock again. He can't maintain it; Tom is too tight and Bill too worked up to go slow and easy for long. Loosing a groan into the humid air between them, Bill begins to pump faster, grabbing at Tom's shoulders as though to haul him closer - impossible. He's working vigorously for their climax now.

Tom's legs tighten over his shoulders; he's trying to lift up into each thrust. His face is glistening with sweat and his eyes are heavy with the pleasure Bill is giving him. He licks his lips and gives a stuttered cry, tipping his head back as the blissful look slides over his face, brow drawn, mouth open.

The clench of Tom around him as Bill rocks into him takes Bill by surprise. He laces his fingers with Tom's as Tom reaches for his hands, his heated insides still clamping down so tight that Bill has to cry out and really work to drag his cock back and forth.

He comes undone, and collapses over Tom with pained noises, breathing hard. Tom's not that flexible and groans, not in the good way, as Bill settles atop him and drives his legs higher.

Bill eases back and out of him, biting his lip at Tom's small disconsolate grunt for the loss of connection. A trail of come follows and he's careful to get it on the towel, then folds that over so Tom won't lie on it as Bill sprawls out beside him.

They rub noses. Tom presses a kiss on Bill as their breathing slows. It's slow, searching, with more than a hint of tongue.

"How was it?" Tom wants to know.

"It's always good," Bill says lazily, lidding his eyes. He could take another nap, he thinks. Something to chase away the recollection of before; remembering the part of the trip from three years ago when they were so mad at each other they'd nearly missed the chance for this. When Bill had thought Tom's body, mind and heart were becoming an enigma to him, a strange landscape where Bill was no longer wanted.

Bill stretches out and loops a proprietary arm over Tom's waist, pressing lips to Tom's sweaty shoulder and marveling how he has this now.

This time it's Tom up and moving almost right away. He fetches drinks, returns in swim trunks, pets Bill's hair.

"I love this," Tom says. Bill smiles sleepily, hearing "I love you."


	4. regardless of warnings...

* * *

Tom was getting well and truly sick of sunning himself on their private deck with a drink in hand pretending to have the time of his life as Bill stretched out beside him and avoided his eyes with a vengeance. There was someone out there with cameras, Tom knew, as this was the day for it and Jost had told them to spend plenty of time outside so that Bild and whoever else would pony up could get their pictures. Pretty German twins, that was all the press cared about; pretty half-naked twins frolicking in the sun when half the world was swept with winter. Tom smoked relentlessly and couldn't muster up a smile because Bill was so miserably angry that Tom's stomach had been knotted for days.

If it were anyone else, Tom would have long since stopped trying and yet it was Bill, so Tom couldn't.

There was no point in apologizing, though. Tom didn't think he'd done anything wrong; not to mention, Bill would bite his head off if he tried.

The acidic comment about separate vacations niggled at Tom like a sliver stuck under one of his nails as they lay out in the sun for countless hours. They flipped sides, got someone to bring drinks and rub lotion on their backs – Bill wouldn't touch him – and settled down into the hot tub to smoke, ignoring one another with the implacability of a deadlock. The prospect that Bill might have meant it – that he was so upset with him that he'd actually want to be someplace else entirely for a week, away from Tom – cut Tom up so bad he couldn't even re-open the subject.

That is, he couldn't open it if Bill was still speaking to him. Bill wasn't, so Tom sat and drank and smoked, worrying at that one statement all the while.

By the time he crushed out his last cigarette, Tom realized that Bill wouldn't still be there beside him if he'd truly meant it. The resort was cozy, but there was a whole beach available, shops to explore, places to go. If Bill wanted to be alone, he could have it.

Tom closed his eyes and sank down in his lounge chair, spending his tension in a long sigh as he considered _it_ again. Bill had been laid out before him on the bed, eyes dark and wanting, shirt tugged up to reveal the triple star that never failed to draw eyes down to the delicate shape of his hipbone – including Tom's eyes. It made him feel dirty, angry at himself, like he'd failed Bill.

The whole world objectified Bill and here was Tom, doing it up close and personal. His own twin, the one person from whom Bill should only ever be safe, loved.

After pulling Bill's shirt down Tom had to get up, to get away from the hurt that was radiating off Bill in waves of wretchedness.

"Are we having fun yet?" Bill said, dull and monotone, breaking the silence at last. It was the first time he'd spoken all day, to Tom's knowledge. Typically on vacation, Tom would wake to hear Bill through the wall, conversing with someone – their mother, Andreas, one of their bandmates, one of their staff. That morning, nothing.

"Sure," Tom said, determined to will them both into a better mood. "Loads. We're relaxing, aren't we?"

"I hate relaxing," Bill said, and sat up. He flipped around on the chair, swapping head for feet and positioning himself on his stomach facing away from Tom.

Incidentally he gave Tom a fantastic view of his backside, as trunks bunched and rode up over slim thighs. The tight, high swells of his ass were visible from the underside.

Tom swallowed, the movement convulsive, and forced himself to look away. Bill didn't know he was doing it, he told himself, and dropped a hand to the waistband of his swim trunks, grateful he'd had the foresight to put boxers on beneath them as usual. Bill didn't even really know what he was asking for – he'd never had sex before, after all – and so Tom knew he was only doing the right thing as he continued to deny him.

He'd long since accepted that a certain level of intimacy was necessary for the two of them, a required part of their bond. Tom was okay with kisses and touches and even Bill sucking down his cock, and doing the same for Bill, and it was simply part of what they did. It was another facet of their inextricable natures, doing that much for each other.

Fucking was completely different. Tom sensed that if he did that – if they did that together – there was no going back. He'd take something from Bill that no one else had, and together they'd cross that last line they shouldn't.

Tom had heard Bill speak, wistful and often, on the subject of love to know that some day, Bill would want one person just for him, something not even Tom could share. He might want a wife and kids, his own little separate, nuclear family. He might want a partner; they could have a houseful of dogs, maybe adopt.

If Tom gave into Bill's impulsive, lustful demands now, then Bill might not be able to have what he truly wanted later. Tom knew his twin. Tom knew that if Bill gave himself to him in that way, he'd think it had to be forever.

So they'd spent two years fighting back and forth over it. Tom wanted that natural closeness they'd always had, and Bill deprived him – both of them – of it, trying to hold out for even more. There were so few instances in which Tom drew the line that he thought Bill was still kind of shocked over it - the fact that Tom _could_ deny him.

Tom took a deep breath but he wasn't prepared to start up the argument again. Bill wasn't relaxing. Tom knew because his own shoulders were still tight, and the sensation like a band drawn close over his chest had been uncomfortably present all day. He settled back onto the lounge chair pad, closed his eyes, and tried to drive all thought from his mind.

A breath of cool air fanned over him and Tom shifted, opening his eyes, surprised to realize that it was dark out and getting darker. Bill stood over him with a glass empty but for ice cubes, his expression neutral.

"Jost wants to have dinner," he said.

"I fell asleep?" Tom said, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't need the confirmation, really, but seeing the afternoon gone made him want to grumble. They'd only be here for so many days and he'd let himself sleep through a part of it.

Bill shrugged. "Think you can be ready in ten?"

Tom nodded, hitching himself up to one side of the lounge chair. Jost and his girlfriend had flown out that day, partly so Jost could arrange the one photo op the gossip rags would be getting, and somewhat as a chaperon, Tom knew. As though Tom would pick up girls to bang when his brother was a single wall away from him in a shared bungalow.

Well. Once upon a time he might have, when he was still so young and horny and hadn't yet internalized Bill's increasing disapproval that they could mess around and Tom still wanted girls, besides.

He checked down his front for sunburn, but apparently he'd been careful enough with repeated applications. His chest and abdomen were a little pink but otherwise okay.

Bill had already turned and stalked back toward the sliding door at the back of their bungalow. Tom got up and gave vent to a frustrated sigh.

Maybe it had been a mistake, going to Bill just before they left for vacation and trying, yet again, to re-establish a sense of normalcy between them, connecting on every level. Tom knew that they needed at least that much and he was so pent up.

Even girls didn't really do it for him anymore. It was like temporarily scratching a persistent itch; there and gone and it felt good while he was doing it, but the craving only returned not long after he'd finished.

Tom showered off the lotion and was soothed by the regular, mindless routine of his grooming as he puttered around his room. He pulled a black t-shirt on and bundled his dreads up again, the better to keep heavy hair off his neck in the evening heat.

When he stepped outside to the common area, his eyes widened. Bill was bundled up in a chair with his feet pulled up onto the cushion beneath him, legs crowded against his chest. He was wearing a little white tank top that didn't cover his whole torso, and left a wide expanse of skin uncovered, including the star.

He'd meant to prompt Bill whether he was ready, or something similar, but only a cracked "That's what you're wearing?" emerged from his lips.

Bill angled a scornful glance his direction and got to his feet without saying a word. He shoved his feet into the sandals waiting beside his chair and headed for the door.

The black and white of Tom's t-shirt was echoed in the white of Bill's tank top and low-riding black pants. Tom supposed he shouldn't be surprised they'd picked complementary outfits again. Even when they were pissed at each other, everything resonated between them.

Tom had forgotten to ask where they were meeting Jost for dinner, and it would be awkward to do so now. He pocketed his wallet and mobile and tagged after Bill. As they walked along the strip of path, which glinted in the light cast from lamps that lined it, Tom kept his eyes fixed on the ground, or the tanned skin of Bill's upper back, exposed by the tank top. It was an effort of will to keep his gaze from drifting lower, to the backs of Bill's hips.

Bill led him into the complex of straw-thatched buildings at the heart of the resort compound and took a right, heading for light and sound that spilled out of a nearby door. Tom had been half-expecting Bill to lead him the other direction, for the cabs that would take them a little ways into the city for what passed as nightlife, and was relieved they were sticking close.

Part of Tom was rousing to a growing sense of danger. He should find a girl, he should get himself laid, he should spend the night. Yet the other part of him clung to the fact that this was the one time of year that he got Bill to himself.

He didn't want anyone else.

That, Tom thought, was a large share of the problem. He was so annoyed with himself that he almost missed the wave of the handsome, strong-featured man halfway across the club.

"Jost," Bill said, loud enough to be heard over the club music and ambient chatter as he bounced up and seated himself on the other end of the low couch, leaving space for Tom to seat himself beside Jost.

"Bill," Jost said, inclining his frothy white drink. "Tom. How are the Maldives treating you so far?"

Tom dropped himself into a seat between Bill and Jost, ducking his head and letting Bill answer.

"So good," Bill said, with the vigor and enthusiasm that so many fans had come to know and love, yet Tom detected the flat, mechanical nature of the reply. 

"Everyone keep smiling," Jost said, leaning forward and speaking through a fixed smile of his own. "I believe there's a gentleman over at the bar with a camera."

Bill looked startled and shifted forward, bracing himself against the couch and shaking hair forward to cover his face. "Didn't they get enough earlier today?"

"I'm not sure this one is affiliated with Bild," Jost admitted. "Can't exactly ask, as it's a private club."

"It's supposed to be a private resort," Tom said sourly, and glanced over at Bill. "I know it's hot, but you could have worn a t-shirt..."

Bill lifted himself up a bit and shot Tom a narrow glare, waving one hand in the nearest server's direction. "So? I was half-naked all day, Tom, and so were you. Just because you see the need to swaddle yourself up when you're out in public..."

"You're flashing your moobs in my face," Tom said, even though he was more concerned about the way the top rode up to expose everything below Bill's navel on down to the low-riding band of his pants.

Bill dropped back into his seat with a glare that would turn lesser men to stone. "So why the fuck are you looking?" he countered.

"Boys," Jost said at last. He had an arm draped over the back of the couch and he was regarding them with a serene expression, but his tone was unamused. "Didn't you come here to relax? Get in some quality twin time?"

"Tell that to Tom," Bill began, sounding angry and defeated at the same time.

"What?" Tom exclaimed, recoiling. "Bill, you can't just..." He groped for something, anything, that wouldn't reveal him, or them – wouldn't spill out their innermost secrets even for someone like Jost to see. That was the most basic rule, something they'd had drilled into them very young: not where someone else could see, or hear.

"That's enough," Jost said, sounding stern although he was still, eerily, smiling. "You've been here less than ten minutes and already you've done nothing but fight."

"I'm not the one fighting," Bill claimed, lifting both hands and turning his face away, toward an open window.

"Bullshit," Tom snorted, not willing to take the blame that Bill tried to shove onto him. If Bill would only accept that things had to be a certain way, if _he_ didn't keep fighting for something he couldn't have...

"All right!" Jost declared. "I don't care who started it, but it's been going on a whole lot longer than only tonight, or the past few weeks."

Tom looked down at the garish pattern of the couch and knew Bill was avoiding Jost's eyes, as well. There was nothing either of them could say to that.

"It's gotten worse," Jost declared. "I was hoping that the two of you would be able to resolve it on your own."

"If Tom wasn't so stubborn..." Bill began.

"You're the stubborn one," Tom returned heatedly.

"I don't care!" Jost interjected, now sounding impatient. "You don't get it, do you?"

Bill was quiet for a moment, then spoke up in a small, resentful voice, "Get what?" He was nearly lost to the pervasive din of the club.

"You two need to work this out," Jost told them, leaning forward to set his drink down and lay his hands flat on his knees. He looked back and forth between them. "I'm not going to mediate your twin fight. I don't think any earthly force could. But you both need to work out whatever's dogging you before we start the tour for the new album."

"Or what?" Bill said, tone withering.

Tom knew where that scorn came from; father figure or not, Jost wasn't their parent. Besides that, no matter how much the two of them loved their parents, Bill had been accustomed to making his own decisions and following through with them for years. To a lesser extent Tom did the same, though he tried to listen even if he was going to do his own thing.

"Or you'll tear each other apart," Jost said quietly, leaning forward to catch Bill's eyes. "And take this whole band with you." He got up, taking his drink with him.

Bill folded his arms together hard, turning his body away from Tom. He avoided looking at Tom whatsoever.

"I'm going for a walk," said Tom, who no longer felt like drinking. He'd been drinking all day, and what good had it done him?

"Wait," a voice said behind him, but Tom couldn't. He was angry, and riding a surge of adrenaline-crazed terror for the instant he'd thought Bill would let their secrets tumble free of the ironclad grip they'd kept on it, all these years.

They shouldn't do it anymore. They shouldn't do _anything_ anymore. Yet Tom craved it, more than any girl's flesh he'd ever touched.

Girls were fleeting pleasure, one night, something to relieve the ache and nothing more.

The ache stemmed from Bill, and Tom could never get free of it.

Steps crunched behind him on the path. Tom didn't bother to look back, knowing there would only be one person trailing him. He said nothing and neither did Bill as they walked along the glittering white path to one of the trails that led to the resort's private beach.

"He's right, you know," Tom said at last, slipping his hands into his loose pockets. "We can't keep doing this."

Beside him, Bill took a breath as though to speak up, but no retort came from his lips.

"You're not having any fun," Tom stated. Loneliness worse than anything that had ever swept him riveted him in place. He had Bill beside him, but they'd never been further away. Should they have taken separate vacations, after all?

"I'm with you," Bill countered, taking a few tentative steps closer.

"It's not enough for you," Tom replied, reaching up a hand to pinch at the top of his nose where a pinpoint headache was forming. "Is it?" He wanted to say he didn't think he _could_ be enough for Bill, but what terrified him deep down was the thought that he actually could.

Whatever Bill wanted from him, Tom would give it. It had always been that way.

Small wonder Bill was still after him for it, this, the biggest thing he'd ever asked of Tom, even years after Tom had told him no. Tom looked up at the moon, the star-speckled sky, and at last stole a sidelong glance at Bill.

"I love this," Bill whispered quietly, looking out over the darkened beach.

Tom bit his lip and shuffled along behind him, hearing 'I love you.' The words they could barely bring themselves to say, because it cut so deep.


	5. ...the future doesn't scare me at all

Tom wanders through the bungalow toweling off his chest from a dip in the pool, reaching up to peel off his bathing cap. He's about to call out and remind Bill that they have dinner reservations in twenty, and the walk to the restaurant will probably take up about that amount of time. Before he can open his mouth, Bill appears, simply attired in a long-sleeved black shirt and skinny black jeans over sandals. His hair is combed back and a smile tugs his mouth as his eyes meet Tom's.

"We have to go," he says, coming to a stop before Tom in the hallway. "Or we'll be late to dinner."

"Was coming to tell you the same thing," Tom asserts, draping his towel around his neck. "Dinner starts when we get there, you know."

Bill's smile widens. "I'm hungry," he states outright.

"Ah, that's another matter," Tom responds. He leans in to steal a kiss. Bill doesn't deny him. "I'll throw a shirt on."

"And some pants," Bill calls after him.

"Right, wouldn't want to offend anyone with the sight of my scrawny chicken legs," Tom says ruefully. He knows he was more fit last year, but they've been so busy. When it comes to free time activities, out of a choice between working out and sex, sex with Bill will always win. Plus he's sure they're still growing - he's almost as tall as Bill, now. With that and stresses of the year, it's been hard for both of them to keep their weight up.

"I like our scrawny little legs," Bill shoots back.

Grinning, Tom ducks into the bedroom where most of their bags are located, everything already unzipped and compulsively stowed away in dressers and closets. It's one of the first things he and Bill do when arriving at a place they'll stay for more than a day, one of their routines to lay groundwork for a temporary home. He grabs the first thing he can lay hands on, a tank top out of the drawer, and slings his damp towel over a nearby hamper. He steps into a pair of track pants, sending up a silent thanks for relaxed resort dress codes, and shuffles into a pair of sandals on his way out the door.

"You look good," he murmurs, raising a hand to Bill's cheek before they reach the front door of their bungalow.

Bill ducks his head, color filling in a dark line over his cheekbones. "Ech," he says, wrinkling his nose to express his opinion of that.

"I mean it," Tom insists, taking hold of Bill's shoulders. "You look like _my_ Bill."

"I am your Bill," Bill tells him, head lofting. He turns, leaning against him, slipping an arm around Tom's waist.

"Exactly," Tom says, dotting a kiss on his nose. "But especially like this." About the only time Bill doesn't wear makeup is when they're alone together.

When Bill has no need to present a front to the world.

Bill kisses the corner of his mouth. "Be careful what you say," he warns, "or I'll take you straight back to bed."

Tom gives him wide eyes. "You didn't really need to eat, did you...?" He tugs at the front of Bill's shirt as though threatening to reel him back to the bedroom and have his wicked way with him.

Bill pulls away. "Yes, _we_ do," he says, eyes flashing reproach. He can't maintain it, and dissolves into a sunny grin a second later. "We'll have so much sex later, Tomi. Better not eat dessert."

Tom wants to protest, defer the reservation maybe - an hour, he figures, will give him time to do Bill thoroughly, to their heart's content. His stomach gurgles so loudly at that precise moment that Bill is surprised into a burst of laughter, and Tom joins in. Bill is hungry and so is he, their drives moving in synchronicity as usual.

"Okay," Tom says. "Let's go." He disentangles himself from Bill with reluctance and grabs the essentials, key and wallet. They're on their way in seconds.

"You fell asleep," Bill tells him, waiting as Tom locks up. "On the deck."

Tom grunts. "Had crap dreams."

"I did, too, earlier," Bill says as he leads the way along the wooden pier that stretches from their bungalow back to the beach. "Dreams from, you know, back then."

Tom knows. The ghost of that time and how hard it had been for them lies over every trip but it's a part of them now; they've learned to take the pain with the pleasure.

They walk in over the winding paths that lead to the cluster of buildings that form the heart of the resort. There's a club tucked away in one corner, like a certain club Tom remembers from years before, but on this trip they've no use for it. Tonight they're headed for the beachside bistro with an ocean view. When Tom made the reservation, he'd dropped a tip in advance to get them the best seats in the house.

"You know, this is a pretty romantic dinner," Bill says when they're seated, leaning his chin against his hand and looking out toward the water.

"Mm," Tom agrees, noncommittal. It's rare enough they get to treat themselves with a night out like this and he's going to make the most of it. "Camera tonight, you know."

Bill purses his lips in Tom's direction, raising one hand to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve. "They don't know how romantic it is," he says coyly.

"God, I hope not," Tom says, heartfelt. It's why he checks all the blinds twice, makes a last sweep to check that things are locked, bought a little device from the internet that can help him sweep for hidden cameras. Still, by virtue of who they are together, Tom knows it shows through in moments less guarded, even when they're braced for cameras.

It's how they are, and Tom wouldn't change it. He's still surprised that no one questions it – at least, not to their faces. They're twins, after all, and it gets them the latitude that singletons aren't allowed. They quite literally _need_ one another.

Bill quirks his eyebrows and settles his elbows on the table. As he leans forward, for a moment Tom thinks his twin is going to say something unbearably sappy, as occasionally escapes his lips even on camera to Tom's dismay.

"Did you bring cigarettes?" Bill says instead.

Tom breaks into an incredulous grin. If he didn't know for sure Bill had been in the other room at the time he'd slipped the fresh pack of cigarettes in his pocket, he'd think Bill had watched him do it. "Yeah, 'course," he replies. He tears off the wrapping, wads it down into his pocket, and taps the pack for a moment before extending it in Bill's direction.

Bill finesses a cigarette from the pack and aims a coy smile in his direction as he lifts it to his lips. Tom can only shake his head and keep grinning in response. It's a wordless prompt for Tom to light it, and it works, of course. He's got the only lighter between the two of them.

Bill takes a drag and they put in their orders; appetizer, salad, entree. Everything is the same except the entree, where Bill goes for an island fish and Tom plays it safe with pasta, knowing Bill will steal half his plateful anyhow and Tom will sample Bill's extensively. The drinks come and they clink in a silent, wordless toast. It's the same toast every time, 'to us; forever now.'

"Don't drink too much," Bill warns, and Tom can hear the corollary. _It takes you forever to come._

Sometimes they love doing it like that, getting fully loaded then fucking on a drunk high for ages. They're on vacation, though, and it won't do to fuck Bill's ass raw if Tom's planning on making sweet love to him the next morning. Not to mention, they've got activities planned for the rest of the week.

"Wasn't planning on it," Tom says amiably.

"They want a whole day of pictures," Bill says, still leaning forward. He puffs reflectively.

Tom nods. He knows; they sat down with Jost before leaving for vacation and discussed it. It was one of those hundred little details they'd rushed to square away before leaving.

"I want to do lots of stuff," Bill says. "Things we haven't done before, instead of lazing on the beach."

"Like what?" Tom wants to know. He's rather attached to the notion of being lazy on the beach. It's like their vacation thing.

"Like snorkeling," Bill says, his eyes glowing.

"Really?" Tom says skeptically. "Are there even any reefs nearby?"

"We'll find out!" Bill says, his enthusiasm undeterred. "Then I want to go jet-skiing."

"Oh, I can get into that," Tom says with a smirk. He leans back a bit as their appetizers are delivered discreetly.

Bill holds up his cigarette like it's one of his slim fingers before he leans over to stub it out. "One jet-ski," he clarifies.

Tom's brow wrinkles. "Bill..." He can picture it now; Bill pressed against him from behind, arms wrapped around Tom, yelling his excitement. He leans forward to prod a crab cake with his fork to mask the twitch of excitement the image has delivered to his cock.

"What? If anyone asks, we'll say the rest were rented out," Bill claims. "And I'm driving."

Tom tugs at one of the legs of his pants. "We'll see."

Bill grins over at him before devoting himself to his own appetizer. "This isn't very vegetarian," he says critically, poking the crab cake with his fork.

"What?" Tom mumbles around his mouthful. "It's shellfish, Bill. We decided..."

"I've heard that crabs scream when you drop them in the pot," Bill adds, giving Tom a tragic look.

Tom swallows his food, gathers his thoughts, and frowns. "No," he says. "They don't. It's the sound their shell makes."

"Really?" Bill says, pausing with a morsel halfway to his lips.

"Would I lie to you?" Tom says rhetorically.

"Yes," Bill says at once, giving him a bit of a glare.

"Well, yeah," Tom temporizes, "but you always _know_ when I'm lying, so it's like it doesn't even count."

"True," Bill allows. He eats his crab cake with relish, smacks his lips a bit, and downs his white wine. The waiter refills it, so deft and quiet they barely notice his presence. The appetizers are replaced with salad.

"So what do you want to do on photo day?" Bill wants to know. "I want to splash around in the pool a bit..."

"Lie out on the deck and be lazy," Tom says. "That butler will deliver drinks right to the deck. Oh, and breakfast on the deck. And lunch. And cigarette breaks."

"The usual," Bill says, giving Tom a wry twist of his lips as Tom forks through his salad, checking for any wilted or unhealthy pieces of lettuce that he'd want to set off to the side. Neither of them are fond of vegetables and Tom has always been wary of lettuce. Things can hide under it; he has to check the whole salad.

"The usual is fun, too," Tom says.

"You're right," Bill says, and digs into his own salad. "I should work on my tan before our fans start to accuse me of vampirism."

"Yeah, you'd like that too much," Tom replies. They fall into silence. The dressing is good: tangy and citrus, but Tom still doesn't finish his salad. Too many vegetables, even if there's nothing lurking. Bill leans forward for another cigarette and Tom hands one over, lighting it. The evening is dark and fragrant, smells from the grill mingling with a bank of flowers near the terrace.

The salad course is replaced by a wide oblong plate full of pasta and decorative sprigs of chervil. Tom stares at it a moment, imagining a nice juicy steak like Gustav is always talking about because he knows it torments Tom.

"Some day," Bill says, "they'll come up with a tofu substitute that tastes like meat."

"I miss it," Tom replies dolefully; in his head, he's carving up that imaginary steak into delicious reddened bites. Bill is tucking into his island fish as though he's got a grudge against it, likely to stave off the meat cravings that are radiating off Tom.

"Beef is cruel," Bill says decisively, "and so is chicken."

"Fish have feelings, too," Tom says, and tries to hide a smile as Bill sets his fork down with a resounding clink. Tom digs into his pasta, a little smug.

"Take it back," Bill says, looking horrified and approximately twelve. He eyes his plate as though he's been told one of their dogs has been served up to him.

"PETA says..." Tom begins, and Bill's clouded expression clears up instantly.

"Oh, PETA," he says, in the same tone he'd say 'oh, cockroaches.' "They're crazy people. You didn't take what _they_ had to say as fact, did you?"

"Guess not," Tom says, and loads his fork with pasta. He has to stop imagining it's steak; at least, make himself forget the taste of the one he had two years ago at a different resort in the islands. He tells himself his meal has got loads of carbohydrates, at least, so he'll have plenty of energy for sex later.

The pasta is delicious and goes well with the wine, at which Tom sips sparingly. He enjoys his meal and the bits of fish he swipes from Bill's plate. Afterward they linger at the table and he lights another cigarette for Bill, starting one for himself not long after.

"Do you have mints?" Bill wants to know, nudging his bare foot over Tom's toes. He's slipped his sandal off beneath the table.

"Was planning on brushing my teeth," Tom replies, and takes another heavy drag.

They decline dessert and sit while they drain their wineglasses and finish off their cigarettes.

"I want to walk along the beach on our way back," Bill says. He shifts in a way that lets Tom know he's slipping his sandals back on under the table.

"It's colder by the water," Tom warns, and Bill merely shrugs.

When Bill puts out his cigarette he shoots a demure look in Tom's direction. "I want to have the next one later," he says in a way that makes Tom's stomach tighten with instant need. _After sex,_ he infers, and perhaps a walk along the beach is a good idea, giving him some time to work off the food they've put away.

Tom leaves a cash tip and they get up and go. Resort dining is so easy; the charge will show up on their bill as a line item, and nothing more need be done. The cool wind by the shore plucks at their clothing and the waves tumble with distant ferocious noises.

"Missing the dogs?" Tom asks, catching Bill's pensive expression.

"Yes and no," Bill replies. "I'm glad we're taking Scotty and Nova, at least."

On the tour, he means, and Tom nods agreement. He's glad they have their own bus now, not only for the privacy they treasure together but also the space for more homey details, necessities. Last time they used the bus they took Sadie and Gollum, so now it's their bigger boys' turn.

"But it's nice to be by ourselves," Tom offers, because traveling for press and interviews and recording without the dogs doesn't count.

"Yes," Bill says with a deprecating chuckle. "I feel a little guilty even saying it."

"Don't," Tom replies. "Nova claws the door like crazy when we shut him out, and Sadie howls when we gate her for too long."

"What she considers too long," Bill amends, but his expression is fond. "I sure don't miss them when we're, you know."

Tom grins over at him. They're in agreement, neither of them will do it in front of the babies, but making arrangements is sometimes awkward to the point of mood-killing.

He wants to reach out and take Bill's hand. Even in the fragrant dark with the breeze sweeping across them, stirring the sand into ripples around their feet, Tom doesn't quite dare. He's long since accustomed himself to expressing most physical gestures of affection in private, but for the ones he doesn't even notice, a twined foot or thigh nudged close to his twin's. His space is Bill's space, even when they're mad at each other.

Bill points out constellations overhead and Tom hums in wonder. The sky is beautiful, pinpoint diamonds scattered over velvet, but what Tom truly wants to admire is right beside him.

Back at the bungalow, the blinds are already shuttered and Tom has only one door to lock behind them. He does, dropping the key to the table beside the door, and turns to field an armful of Bill.

"Teeth," Tom murmurs reminder, because kissing Bill right now would be like making out with a sexy agile-tongued ashtray. Bill wrinkles his nose and rubs it against Tom's before pulling away.

He sheds his clothing on the way through the bungalow until Tom is following the twinkle of Bill's bare ass. Each bedroom has an adjoining bath and Tom finds Bill in the one beside the bedroom with what Bill has declared to be the 'sex bed,' though they've mixed and matched the two.

Minty fresh, they connect their mouths until Bill pulls away and tugs at Tom's tank in silent urging.

Tom works his tank top off and chucks it in the general direction of the bedroom hamper. He reaches for Bill's cock and it's filling already, burgeoning dark against his thigh as Bill presses close to cover his lips and stroke an urgent tongue between them.

"Love you. Love this," Bill pants against the corner of his mouth, skimming Tom's pants and boxers down with impatient hands. He grasps Tom's dick, riding foreskin up and down over the head and making Tom throw his head back and pant, sudden and frantic. "Want this."

He's talking about Tom's dick, and it makes Tom's mouth go slack with need. Tom crowds a cooperative Bill back toward the bed. It's seaward-facing, nothing outside for as far as the eye can see, and Tom's left the blinds open here in this one place.

"Can I suck it?" Bill wants to know, his eyes dark pits in his face but Tom can still see the intensity of his gaze.

Tom groans, pulling on Bill's cock a little faster, releasing it to bob against his thigh as he traverses one tiny hip and grabs at his ass, spreading him one-handed and rubbing his finger down into the crease, seeking and stroking against Bill's sweet little hole. "Later," he says, his voice a heavy rasp. "Right now, I wanna get in you so bad."

Bill utters a pleased gasp, crowding closer, and pumps his grip on Tom a bit faster. "Yes; yes, Tomi, want you in me," he says, his eyes widening. "Now. I need it."

Tom's chest puffs up with pride at Bill's eagerness. Like the opening steps to a dance he guides Bill back toward the bed. His cock is swelling firm in Bill's hand and he wants everything now, all at once. He wants to suck Bill down, be sucked, mount him and rock into him until Bill is making the fluttering weak cries that accompany his keenest arousal. "Let's do it," he says, his voice dragged-out and gravelly with lust.

He tips Bill onto the bed where he lies sprawled out, a feast for the senses. Bill strokes himself as Tom moves around in search of lube; his fine-boned hands move over his own skin in a restless circuit from naked thighs to naked little pecs adorned with tight, tiny nipples. He's clenching his thighs in a very familiar way, his cock heavy and full on his belly, legs pressing together hard as he bites his lip. Bill doesn't want foreplay; he wants Tom in him, preferably about five minutes ago.

Tom has to pause beside the bed for a moment, stroking his own cock and warning it not to explode. "You're so fucking sexy," he slurs.

"Get on me," Bill replies, low and hoarse. He holds his knees up and together, lifting his legs to expose himself to Tom.

"Ah, fuck," Tom whimpers, biting his own lip. His cock leaps in his hand and he climbs onto the bed to cover Bill, tossing the lube to one side and rubbing his cock into the shadowed cleft down below Bill's thighs. His tip leaks as he presses it to the little hole that seems to part a bit, ready to suck him in, even if it's only his imagination. "How much prep do you need?"

"Not much," Bill answers, already breathing heavily, pressing his knees higher. He rubs needily against Tom's dick. "Want your cock."

"You're gonna get it," Tom promises. He kneels at Bill's rear, letting go of his cock for a moment to grab the lube and smooth himself with a generous dollop. He has to hunch over to press a kiss to Bill's nearest knee, kissing again when Bill whimpers and angles his hips up. He guides his cock back to where they both want it and begins to push.

Sometimes Bill has a trick of opening up on command, without fingers or prep. It's all about how relaxed or horny he is. Tonight he spasms open around Tom's dick and Tom is practically choking as it all goes in until he's pressed to the balls against Bill and he finds himself braced over him, wrapping his own arms around Bill's folded legs. They moan together as Tom begins to pump instinctively, giving Bill more cock with quick, shallow flicks.

Bill cries out and Tom moans a response, hips rising and falling as he goes in and out. He tips Bill's hips to the best angle and holds onto his legs and gives him what he wants, fucking hard and fast until Bill is all but sobbing.

He eases off, pulling out until Bill's squeezing his tip and scrabbling at Tom's hands with anxious hands. Tom repositions him, gets Bill to hand him one of the pillows so he can stuff it under the small of his back, jacks his legs up and outward, slings one over each shoulder and pushes his entire length back into Bill as he climbs onto and over him.

"Oh...ohhh," Bill groans under the weight of pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut.

Tom brushes his lips over Bill's, hips eddying in pulses. They pant together, kiss hotly, and Tom begins to move again. He works his cock in and out, deep and slow. He makes love to Bill with the moonlight spilling across their skin, their twined bodies, and they go for what seems like hours. He pulls out and shoves the pillow to one side, eventually, lifting Bill up so that he's still on his back but over Tom's thighs again, sets the head of his cock to Bill's hole, and drives right back in.

"Yes," Bill moans. "Go faster."

Tom does.

It's dreamy and slow even as he pumps his cock into Bill faster, harder. He has to pull out and smear another dollop of lube below Bill's balls before easing back in as Bill whispers "more, do it." It's so good Tom thinks he could go forever, or at least, make a very determined attempt at it.

"Pull out," Bill says eventually, his face taut in lines that look pained, but Tom knows he's hungry for his climax; Bill wants to come.

"Why should I?" Tom replies lazily, pumping Bill full of his dick. The buzz of alcohol has long since faded from his system but he's still going strong without it.

"I want to ride you," Bill says bluntly. He fondles his own cock and tightens down around Tom where they're joined.

"Ah," Tom says, and he's already pulling out. "Yes, please."

With a strong hand, Bill topples Tom onto his back, so near the edge of the bed his head's half-off. As Bill looms over Tom there's a moment of panic where Tom thinks he's going to get fucked and it's a sick burn in his middle; he's not _ready_ , he needs to be _prepared_ for that, but Bill is settling astride him with a determined look. Taking hold of Tom's lubed cock, Bill sinks down onto it and takes it so deep they both cry out, loud and unrestrained.

It doesn't take long after that. A few hip rolls and Bill's coming, glistening pale spurts unraveling and arcing over Tom's chest and stomach. Tom follows, tightening up and stroking Bill's hips with both hands as he watches Bill's blissful face above him.

Bill leans down to give him wet, hungry kisses as Tom comes.

Bill collapses across his chest as though he's going to stay a while, Tom's still-hard cock still pressing deep inside him, sensitive to every twitch or shift. "Stud," he grunts, poking a blunt fingernail to Tom's collarbone, kissing the nearest patch of sweaty skin.

"Huh?" Tom prompts, still adrift in the heady afterglow. He pets down Bill's perspiration-dewed back.

Bill laughs. "Any time we need to pause in the middle for more lube, you're a stud."

"Oh, right." That response is a bit smug but Bill doesn't call him on it. Bill's looking pretty sated where he's settling his head at the hollow point of Tom's shoulder.

They lapse into easy silence for so long that Tom becomes worried he'll have to shake Bill awake; he doesn't want either of them to fall asleep with that delicate membrane all stretched out around him.

"And you were worried," Bill mumbles, stroking a proprietary hand up one of Tom's sides, skirting his ribs with a deft touch to avoid tickling. "About me finding love, some day. You never worried about having it yourself."

He's talking about the past now, and Tom lifts a hand to comb dark hair out of Bill's eyes. Bill smiles sleepily and nuzzles against him, lips twitching as though to kiss, even though his mouth is nowhere near Tom's skin. They've both given up and, in doing so, opened themselves up to so much more.

"I'm open to love," Tom murmurs, lingering over the act of stroking stray black hair out of the moonlight-etched contours of Bill's face. "As long as it's yours."

Bill's mouth curves as Tom runs a finger along his jaw. "You're it for me," he replies.

Tom can't imagine a moment more perfect than this. He knows they'll top it, though, with the next one, and the next. Perfecting perfection is a life's work, after all.


	6. nothing's like before

In his separate room, Bill tossed and turned his way through a restless night before getting up with a dissatisfied grunt sometime near dawn. He had the blinds drawn, plunging his room into a near cavelike darkness, so his only clue was the red numerals of the clock as he shifted from one side of the bed to the other. He missed the days when it had been all right between them, when he could slip into Tom's bed and spoon behind him and be lulled into a sense of comfort and safety by the scents rising from Tom's nape. The mingled scent of skin and dread-wax was the only soporific to insomnia, so far as Bill was concerned.

He figured he was hard-wired that way now, only sleeping well when Tom was there beside him. Even now that they were mad at each other Tom would still let him do it, so Bill could get a good night's sleep. The next morning they'd get into sullen fights because Tom would start to touch him and Bill would go along with it, until he remembered what Tom _didn't_ want, and then it was no longer okay.

Bill crept out of his solitary room on silent bare feet, eyeing the golden glow at the underside of the living room shades with distaste. He padded one door over to Tom's room, slipped inside, and clambered onto the bed to one side of the giant lump in the middle of the bed.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and waited.

Not very good at waiting, presently Bill poked his foot at the closest end of the giant lump.

An explosive "huh?" emerged from the head of the bed and a pile of messy dreads poked up from beneath the coverlet, followed an instant later by confused, sleepy brown eyes. Tom peeked over his bedclothes at Bill, groggy expression resolving to something that resembled resignation, or weariness. "Huhwhaddyawant." His head disappeared beneath a fold of coverlet as he flopped back onto his pillow.

"Jost is right," Bill ventured, hugging his knees. The tight coil of misery in his chest never really left him, these days. Bill thought he might die of it if he didn't _do_ something. "But we're both really stubborn...and we want different things."

Tom appeared over the bedclothes again, ruffled and indignant. He sat up fully. "It's not about what we _want_. This is about what we can have." He held Bill's eyes a long moment before swallowing, looking away, and picking at the coverlet.

Bill blinked. "I don't understand." At least Tom had said 'we.'

Tom climbed out of bed in a quick flurry of tanned limbs. He pulled his boxers higher up trim hips from where they'd slipped during sleep. "Of course you don't, you've always gotten everything you wanted."

Bill's mouth turned down in a hard frown. "Not everything," he contradicted flatly.

Tom sighed noisily and ran a hand over his tousled crest of dreadlocks. "I need coffee. You want coffee? It's too fuckin' early for you to be this pissed at me."

" _I'm_ not pissed--" Bill began hotly.

"Whatever," Tom interrupted, and strode out of the room.

Bill groaned and folded over, spilling himself onto his front across Tom's rumpled bedclothes. He'd fucked up again. He grumbled and nestled himself deeper into Tom's bedclothes, nose twitching. He took a long breath, looked around furtively, and peeled the coverlet back, climbing into the warm place that Tom had left behind.

A small sigh escaped him as he pulled the bedclothes up over his head. Relaxing at last, Bill told himself he'd stay just a few minutes.

He fell asleep at once.

The room was full of light when Bill surfaced from the bedclothes as though breaking free of a wave that had swamped him. Something was tugging at his hair with a light touch. "Whaa...?" Bill slurred, cracking sleep-laden eyes to look over at Tom, who was seated beside him with an oblique expression. Try as he might, Bill couldn't read him. He rubbed at one makeup-free eye and sat up.

"You must not have gotten any sleep last night," Tom said in a neutral tone. The moment Bill had proved wakeful, his hand had retracted to his side. Nervous fingers tapped over one thigh. He was dressed in one of his sail-sized white shirts, swim trunks covering his folded legs, and his dreads were bundled high on his head.

"Ehh," Bill said, shrugging. He was used to it by now.

"Hungry?" Tom continued, clearly determined to stick to subjects that wouldn't challenge them.

"I guess," Bill said, and looked down in surprise as his stomach produced a drawn-out sound that resembled a death rattle. He turned his head away from Tom, biting his lip. "Traitor."

"Come on, I ordered food," Tom said, climbing off the bed. He looked over his shoulder after a few steps. "Or I can order fresh, if you'd prefer."

"How long was I out?" Bill wanted to know, excavating himself from the Tom-redolent nest he'd made for himself. 

"A few hours," Tom replied. "Hope you don't mind I had breakfast."

"Why should I mind?" Bill said, brow furling. It wasn't as though they had to do _everything_ together.

As Tom had proved, time and again.

Mood slumping again, Bill followed his twin out to the common area and beyond, out to the wooden deck that afforded a fabulous ocean view, or so all the brochures had promised. Today the sky was clouded over and the far edge puffed up in darker billows that threatened rain, if it wouldn't blow over. A good day to spend in the hot tub, Bill thought.

He piled himself into one of the deck chairs and grabbed a bagel to cover half-heartedly with spread. Avoiding Tom's eyes all the while, Bill entertained a brief fantasy where he turned eighteen, and moved out officially from his parents' house. He could buy a solo flat. He'd be on his own, away from Tom.

"Bill," Tom said, sounding concerned.

Bill raised his eyes from the array of fruit on the platter beside him. "Huh," he said dully.

"What are you thinking that feels so awful?" Tom wanted to know. His brows were drawn together, his face tight with anxiety.

Bill shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said. It was one thing to contemplate being independent of Tom; living a life where the sun didn't rise and set on Tom. It was another realm entirely to put it into action, and he truly couldn't imagine waking in a place where his twin wasn't only a door away.

Tom sighed; a tiny intake and exhale of breath that spoke volumes. "Can you talk about it?" The inquiring tilt of his head implied, _we should talk about it._ They used to talk about everything, good and bad.

"No," Bill stated, closing the door on that line of conversation, and he shoved about half a cluster's worth of grapes in his mouth.

The furrow deepened across Tom's brow. " _You_ said we should talk about it. You woke me up to..."

"Wasn't about that," Bill managed, squishing half-pulped grapes into his cheeks.

"Gross," Tom said, but he looked unbothered. "Swallow first."

"Always did," Bill returned. He cackled and slapped at the table when Tom cringed back in his chair, his own double entendre turning around to bite him in the ass.

"Biiiill," Tom complained, the drawn-out name coming perilously close to a whine. "You came into my room this morning to talk, yeah? So talk. I'm here; I'm listening."

Bill huffed and drew his legs up onto the chair, pulling his knees in tight to his chest. His thoughts were a crazed jumble. Tom looked so tired, but hopeful. His lips were faintly parted, chapped skin clinging to the full line of the lower lip because he was too manly for lip gloss and he licked and bit his lips more often than Bill did.

"You know," Bill began thoughtfully, "I haven't been kissed in about two years?" It was the first thing that came to mind and he blurted it, remembering at the same time that the last hot, purposeful press of lips against his had been when he and Tom had been twined together in a hotel room bed. He didn't remember the city, or exactly when. He only knew it had been the last time.

Tom shifted in his seat, an uncomfortable look crossing his face. "Yeah, well. Me too."

Straightening, legs uncoiling to drop his feet to the deck with matching thuds, Bill stared at Tom incredulous and open-mouthed. "Liar! You liar, you've slept with girls since...since." He stopped shy of naming the occasion.

Tom sank deeper in his chair, still avoiding Bill's eyes. "You can fuck someone without kissing them, you know." A red flush was spreading up his neck.

"But...but why would you?" Bill burst out, appalled. "So you're treating them like whores? God, Tom! I can't believe I'm related to you!"

"Hey!" Tom shot back, angry now. "None of them ever complained, they all left satisfied, so it's not your place to..."

"Why would you have sex with them if you're not going to kiss them?" Bill demanded. He was battling a disgust so profound it was an effort not to get up and walk away.

"I don't love them," Tom responded at once. "I didn't love any of them. Kissing's very intimate, to me."

Bill blinked. His insides lurched, as though his entire world had undergone a gravitational shift. "But I...but you..." He wished Tom would look at him again. "You kissed _me_."

"I know." Tom's head swung up and around; his eyes were dark and steady on Bill's.

"You love me?" Bill said, his voice coming out small, breathy, powered by the barest of exhalations.

Tom looked away. "The fact that you have to ask that really pisses me off," he said. He sprang out of his chair, striding back to the bungalow door and sliding it shut behind him so hard the glass wobbled.

Bill scrambled up out of his chair. "Tom!" He was elated; devastated. This was profound, this was beyond a revelation. Tom loved him _that_ way, after all.

Yanking the door to the bungalow open, Bill hurried inside on a hunt for Tom. He didn't have far to look; his twin was pacing along the opposite side of the common room like a trapped jungle creature.

"Tom," Bill blurted. When Tom came to a brief stop, his eyes flashing across the room at him, Bill blurted, " _I_ love you."

"I know that," Tom said. He rolled his head back, cracked his neck a couple of times, and resumed pacing. "It doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything," Bill insisted. "I thought you didn't want to...you know...do it with me because you didn't love me like that. But if you do..."

Tom barked out a loud, harsh laugh. "We're still brothers, Bill! That hasn't changed, and it's not going to. We can't...I can't do that to you, okay? Fooling around...that's one thing, but full-on sex...it's not the same thing."

Bill growled wordlessly and headed across the intervening space, though he only stopped halfway to Tom. "It _is_ the same thing, to me," he replied. "Why do you think I won't let you, anymore? It's all or nothing. You don't want everything. So, it's nothing, from me."

"That's not what you want!" Tom yelled, turning toward him, stopping on the other side of the couch. He gripped at the back of it as though to keep himself anchored in place. "You want real love, some day. And I want that for you. So I can't give you everything, because you'll just take it back later."

Bill's eyes widened. He tottered and his legs gave out; fortunately, there was a chair behind him and he sank into it with a painful thump. "You actually...you think I'd..." He felt as though a piece of his soul had been ripped away. Tom actually thought that of him, that Bill would give his love, himself, and ask for it back as though it had been on loan for a little while? He made a low, tortured noise.

"So, I can't," Tom concluded. "You keep pushing and pushing and I can't, Bill! I just...I'd like for things to go back to the way they were before."

Bill clutched at his knees, bending until hair fell into his face. He scraped it away with one impatient hand. "That's what _I_ can't do, Tom. I want to...I need to..." He surged out of his chair, eyes blazing. "Why not _be_ fucking selfish once in a while, Tom? Take what you want! You want _me_ , don't you? All of me? It's why you keep coming to my room; why you keep letting me in your bed..."

"Because if we do it, that's it for me, Bill!" Tom screamed at him. "That's it. Only you. You're already everything, and you want that too...and you want..."

"Yes," Bill shot back, breathing hard. "I do want it. So, go ahead. Call me sick, wrong, bad, a freak. All of it, I don't care."

Tom was scrambling toward him, Tom was all but tripping over the loose shorts he was wearing to reach Bill, crossing over the couch between them. As he loomed close, for a split second Bill thought Tom was going to hit him.

"Don't you ever," Tom said fiercely. "Don't ever call yourself sick. Not for this."

He seized Bill's face in his hands and kissed him.

Bill produced a moan so fervent it resembled a sob, flinging his arms around Tom and cinching them tight. Nothing was going to convince him to let go. Tom was kissing him hard, really kissing him, opening up Bill's lips with his own ardent lips, pressing them together again and again. There was no tongue yet but their lips were hungry, nipping and nuzzling at one another, unable to get enough.

By the time Bill's breath had degenerated into gasping, anxious noises, Tom pulled away. His eyes were intense enough to be angry but the hands that pressed to the flat of Bill's back were gentle, stroking along his skin with a light touch.

"I'm not...I wouldn't do that," Bill said, shy and confident all at once. He wanted to duck his head. Tom was holding his gaze, though, and he couldn't look away. "I wouldn't give you my love only to take it back. You're...it. I don't want anyone else but you." He bit his lip to stifle the sudden unwanted uprising of a little sob.

"That's why it hurts so much."

Tom let out a sigh and pulled Bill closer into his arms so that their chests touched. Bill was taller, but found he was still comfortably able to rest his head on his twin's shoulder.

"Of course," Bill added humbly, "if you don't feel the same..."

"I do feel the same," Tom interrupted, quiet but fierce. "We _are_ the same. But, if we do this...I mean...Bill, are you sure? Really sure. Not just because I've been saying no and it's something you couldn't have, but because this is really, truly what you want."

"I'm really sure," Bill said with a nod, pulling back enough to wipe at his eyes, then meet Tom's gaze steadily. "You and me, Tom, and a big house and lots of dogs and 'no girls allowed,' remember?" 

Tom snorted softly. He leaned in to press a little kiss to the corner of Bill's mouth. "Can't believe you still remember that."

Bill's heart warmed, transferring rapidly to his entire being. There was an acquiescence in that kiss. "I could never forget," he replied gladly, and stretched forth to kiss back.

This time, Tom tipped his face into the kiss and caught Bill's lips square on the mouth. He nibbled at the seam of Bill's mouth and it was chaste, at first – more or less, with a hint of the wetness spread by their lips. When Tom's tongue ran along the lower line of Bill's mouth, they both shuddered.

He was requesting entrance to Bill's body, and this time they were both fully aware.

Bill parted his mouth wider with a little moan, welcoming Tom inside. His tongue curled over Bill's teeth and sought his, stroking against Bill's tongue, twining into him in the way that Bill remembered. Sucking harsh breaths through his nose, Bill swirled his tongue against Tom's and chased heat back and forth between them as Tom's arms tightened around him. When they broke away at last, they were holding each other so closely Bill thought they must be overlapping; that they'd already become one.

"I want this," Bill said, again. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Tom. Really, truly. I don't want to be apart."

Tom was breathing a little faster, his pupils wide and dark. He looked scared. At last, he gave a jerky nod. "I want that too," he said, hoarse, sounding as though his voice would give out.

Bill sucked in a gasping breath and pulled Tom close again, wrapping his arms around him. Impractical as it was, he thought he never wanted to let Tom go. Tom could carry him around everywhere in his pocket, his very own Pocket Bill; certainly his pockets were roomy enough.

"Are we...?" Bill began, barely audible.

There was no response during time measured in several lurching thuds of Bill's heart, until at last Tom nodded against his shoulder. "Yes," Tom answered, equally low.

They leaned back in unison and shared a secret smile. When Tom's eyes dilated this time, his breath hitching, Bill knew what to expect and lowered his chin, eyes sliding closed as Tom kissed him again. Tongue passed between them even more readily than before, their movements natural, and it was even harder to disentangle at last.

"Are we going to have sex?" Bill wanted to know, panting. He rode his hands up under Tom's shirt to caress smooth muscle.

"No, not yet," Tom said, and reddened. "There's, uh, a few things I have to pick up."

"Okay," Bill said docilely. It was easier to wait when he'd been promised everything he wanted.

"You know," Tom began, and reached up to tug a lock of Bill's hair. "This is going to change everything."

"God, I hope so," Bill said, fervent. They were going back, but they were moving on.

They would never stop screaming. No matter how far they went, they carried it around them inside – everything that tore them up, everything that made them who they were. Together.


	7. simple and clean is the way...

Bill leans over the bed and trails a black-painted nail over Tom's face until a nose twitches and Tom's eyes crack open.

"Picture day," Bill says, with feigned cheer.

"Augh," Tom responds, hauling his pillow over his head. "You woke me up for that?"

"Not for sex," Bill agrees, now with a hint of sadistic glee. "You're not getting any this morning, Tomi. I'm too sore."

This gets Tom to sit bolt upright, mouth gaping. "What? Wait, are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine," Bill soothes, moving out of range as Tom reaches for him. "You worry too much. You can have me later – just not now. Besides, we've got breakfast waiting on the deck."

Tom releases a rumbling groan and rolls for the edge of the bed, making a long arm as though to catch at Bill's thigh, or the waistband of his shorts. Bill has been up long enough to order breakfast for the both of them and see it delivered to the back deck by their butler; he's showered, donned the only thing he intends to wear all day, and given his nails a couple of fresh coats of black polish.

"C'mere, I miss you," Tom tries that angle as his reaching fingers fall short.

Bill laughs at him and retreats further out of reach. "Good. Maybe you'll get out of bed and join me at the breakfast table." He puts a bit of swing in his hips as he leaves the bedroom.

The first to wake on any given morning is usually Tom, conditioned as he is to take out at least one dog on a morning circuit of the neighborhood. Today Bill has woken first, as his morning dreams shifted into restless tides, churning up the past again and again. He can only smile at his younger self's desperation and naivety, as though getting what he wanted from Tom would be the hardest part. The most difficult thing, by far, has been _keeping_ it.

Black and white striped shorts have ridden low on his hips again and Bill pulls them higher, cinching the laces tighter. Fine hairs at his nape and on his arms stand to attention, making Bill pause in his search for cigarettes and tip his head to one side. He's not left wanting; arms slide around him, clutching comfortably around his middle, and a warm cheek rests against his nape.

In groping over the kitchen counter for cigarettes, Bill pushes a black remote control aside. "Who needs four huge LCD televisions in a place like this?" he wonders, sending the remote control skittering over bone white tiles. Sure, they had brought a few DVDs to catch up on, if they have the time, but Bill is pretty sure that most of their indoor activities will involve sweaty, tangled bodies, whether they're engaged in coitus or not.

"We could watch a movie in any given room while I'm fucking you," Tom suggests bluntly.

"Or while I'm fucking you," Bill counters, but it's got no force behind it. Sore or not, he has definite plans for the evening and it involves Tom on Bill, in Bill, and doing things to Bill that Tom saves for special occasions, because this is.

The glint in Tom's eye lets Bill know they're on the same track. "Come on," Tom says, smacking Bill's ass and making him produce an undignified squawk. "Let's get fed so we can lay out and brush up your tan."

"I like being pale," Bill says mournfully, because he does. Aside from their yearly vacation, from which they're expected to return bronzed, Bill is careful to stay out of the sun, shading himself with caps or umbrellas. Not only does he enjoy it from an aesthetic point of view, but he likes the contrast of his creamy skin beside Tom's dusky gold.

"Yeah, okay, vampire," Tom says, and gives him a parting love bite.

"No marks!" Bill exclaims, stamping a foot because Tom's out of range for physical retaliation.

"Maybe later, then," Tom says, sending a single heated look over his shoulder.

Bill shivers and presses his thighs together. There's two places that he'll let Tom mark him, and both of them are naughty by anyone's measure. He can't wait. He trips after Tom with a stupid giddy grin and plunks himself down at the breakfast table.

The breakfast that the butler has delivered is simple but there's plenty of it, even for twin appetites whetted by sea air and a long night. There's toast under a low silver dome to keep the heat in, five different kinds of fruit all pared and sliced and easy to eat with fingers or forks, butter and jam spreads, and another domed platter that bears scrambled eggs and sausages. There's more, but Bill doesn't pay the rest much attention, gulping down coffee with so much cream and sugar it makes Tom mime gagging. He snags three pieces of toast, wolfs down fruit until he can't contain any more, and battles Tom for a fair share of the eggs when it looks as though Tom will take most of them and leave a niggardly heap for Bill.

"I've got the day planned out," Bill says, reaching for the urn of juice to pour himself some.

Tom looks over at him with amusement. "Well, of course you do," he says amiably. "Wouldn't do to let things happen spontaneously on vacation time."

Bill huffs. "I've scheduled between one and two o'clock for spontaneity," he says, and rolls his eyes when Tom doesn't laugh, only smirks. "Look, we've got to make the most of the daylight hours!"

"So long as I get at least a few hours to lay out in the sun, we can do whatever you want, lover," Tom replies.

Bill gives him a delighted grin, partly for the acquiescence, part for the nickname he rarely hears, even in private. It's too easy to slip, they've agreed. Best to stick to neutral nicknames, something above reproach. Still, there's the interview nicknames, which are not usually something Tom would call him in private. Bill objects to 'Bibi' simply because it's childish and given all they do together now, hardly appropriate.

"Want to go for a swim?" Tom offers, chucking a piece of toast at him.

Still grinning, Bill holds up a hand to fend off assaults. "No way, we just ate. We can lay out now, and--"

"And lay out later?" Tom says eagerly.

Bill makes a face at him. "You'd think you're the one whose ass hurts," he says, and shakes his head when Tom makes doleful puppy eyes at him. "The butler brought over some snorkel gear..."

Tom's expression speaks eloquently of doubt verging on horror.

"...unwrapped, brand new," Bill hastens to reassure him. "We'll lay out until breakfast is digested, then we'll snorkel in to shore, walk over to the dock – I've already reserved a jet-ski – come back, and have lunch on the deck--"

"And lay out?" Tom interjects, grinning.

Bill regards him with a touch of sourness. "You think you're cute. Yes, and lay out," he replies, then grins, all mischief. "There's a few bottles of white in the fridge."

Tom closes his eyes and inhales happily. "And that'll take us through picture day. Great, let's get started." He opens his eyes. "And dinner?"

Bill snorts. "Always thinking about your stomach."

"That's not true," Tom says, wounded. "Plenty of times I'm thinking about my dick. Or your dick. Or your ass. Or my dick in your--"

"That's great, I get it," Bill interrupts, getting up from the table. He tosses back the rest of his coffee and hooks his thumbs in his waistband, then glances down at his bare chest. Out in the distance on a strip of gleaming white beach, Bill can already see the set-up of a large black tripod, heralding the photographer who will be ghosting them at a polite distance all day.

"Shit, do you think I should have taken it out?" Bill wonders, suddenly self-conscious. He doesn't want anyone to see it, to truly know it's there. He got the tiny hoop through his left nipple for one reason, and one alone – it's got nothing to do with display.

Tom shrugs, but his glance is sympathetic. "They've probably already got some pics," he says, and pokes his tongue out, licking his lips. "It would look weird if you went and took it out now."

Bill cocks one hip out and heads for the back door to the bungalow. "Whatever, I wasn't really ready to show it off." They have so few secrets – aside from the major, obvious one that no one besides they two know – that Bill likes to keep what he can.

"You know the fans know you have it, right?" Tom says behind him with a laugh. "I've seen a few pics where it's pretty damned obvious..."

"Well, they don't know about yours," Bill retorts, pausing with a hand on the door.

"And they never will," Tom returns, unflappable. "That would mean someone got up all in my junk; not gonna happen. Hey, where are you going?"

"Towels," Bill says, and hurries inside. He knows Tom isn't going to like what he'll do next, but Tom has long since given up trying to stop Bill from setting out on a course he's decided on. Especially clothes-wise.

Bill returns with the promised towels, wearing tiny black swim trunks. Tom's eyes widen, but he says nothing. Bill knows the real fight will be tomorrow, when he's planning on lying out nude once the camera is gone. Tom spreads tanning oil from the backs of Bill's earlobes to the dot at his tailbone in quick, brisk sweeps and Bill does the same for his twin. They share small, identical grins and settle in their respective lounge chairs as the sun pounds down.

They lay out in the sun and it pours over Bill's skin in a fierce kiss all over his exposed flesh. He's about to doze off when Tom's voice floats over, rousing him.

"If you could date anyone you wanted from Cherrytree," Tom says, "who would it be?"

Bill's nose wrinkles up before he can help himself. "I _could_ date anyone from Cherrytree I wanted," he returns. "Except Lady GaGa; she's more man than I am. The point is, I don't want to. If this is about making that stupid no-fault list again..."

Everyone should have a list, Tom has reasoned, of people with whom they can sleep that their significant other won't fault them. It's especially important for people like them because it could happen. Bill is pretty sure that Tom would tap Jessica Alba if he ever did have a shot, no joke, and Bill would forgive it. So long as Tom was safe about it. Bill is pretty sure he'd do the Olsen twins – both of them, if they're cool with that. And Tom would stow himself away to watch and fap if he could.

Well, none of that would happen, but it's amusing to both of them to toss the ideas back and forth.

"It's not about that," Tom says, lifting himself up a bit.

"So?" Bill prompts, wary, looking over at Tom who's got his head craned around to make eye contact.

"Jost's going over to LA," Tom says, and his mouth skews. "So Cherrytree might want us to play nice again."

"Fuck that," Bill replies at once, explosive. "You played nice for them last year and look where it got us. Their promotion for Humanoid was shit, Tom. I don't know where they blew the marketing budget--"

"Cocaine and hookers," Tom completes the long-standing joke.

"—but the U.S. album sales were half what they should have been, maybe less than half," Bill finishes his rant. "They want us to 'play nice' for publicity? Fuck that. Chantelle was a nice girl, she didn't deserve that any more than you should've been asked to...well."

"Supply misleading photo opportunities?" Tom says, expressionless.

Bill is breathing harshly, angrily through his nose. He's still not sure who he's more pissed at – Martin for leveraging a couple of photo ops out of his twin, or Tom for agreeing to do it. Tom, for whom kissing is intimate.

"We're done," Bill states. He's made the decision for both of them. "It's one thing if you _want_ to date--"

"I don't," Tom interrupts at once. "You know that."

Bill sighs and settles back in his lounge chair. "It would be okay if you did," he says. "I want you to know that. You and me – we're forever. So it would be okay if you did, you know; if you had the urge--"

"I don't," Tom says again, his voice harder than before. "Do you?" There's a world of hurt walled up behind the stoicism in his voice.

"No," Bill says. His lips quirk. "I think I'd be asexual if it weren't for you."

"Come on, Bill, seriously--"

"I mean it," Bill insists. It's sad and painful and sometimes he thinks he should be ashamed. He's never been sexually attracted to anyone but his twin brother. If it's not critical narcissism, it's still dysfunctional.

"Let's just..." Tom says, and sighs.

Bill wants to remind Tom that _he_ brought it up, but lets them lapse back into silence. When he's on the cusp of drifting off, this time he lowers his lounge chair down to the rails and flips over onto his stomach. He smiles sleepily over at Tom, who's doing the same. He lowers his head, reassured that they're okay. No more shop talk on vacation, he vows.

The waves lap against the bungalow piles and break over the shore in the distance, white noise the soundtrack to their idyll. Bill settles his cheek against the cushion and falls into a light sleep. He rouses to a brief touch on his cheek, blunt-tipped fingers mirroring the way Bill woke Tom, hours before.

"Hey," Tom says.

"Hey," Bill replies, sitting up and pressing his fingertips to the delicate skin beneath his eyes. "I fell asleep."

"I made sure not to," Tom replies, giving him a grin and reaching out to ruffle his hair. "You want to do something, get up and move around?"

Bill jerks out of range by instinct, even though his hair's not done up. "Yeah, or I'll fall asleep again," he admits. "Want to go snorkeling?"

"I want to if you want to," Tom says evasively. "You are _not_ going in those little shorts."

Maybe Tom hasn't learned after all.

Producing a scathing noise, Bill gets up and stretches. "No way. These are sunning shorts; they'd ride up my bum when we go jet-skiing."

"We're going straight to the deck from snorkeling?" Tom groans, and puts both hands to his head. "One jet-ski. Why did I agree to this?"

Bill turns a sparkling grin on him and says nothing. That Tom can't deny him anything is a well-known truth. Well, except for dressing better – a subject on which they still fight, and Bill lets Tom win. He figures he's got to let Tom have _something_.

"Can we at least have sex, after?" Tom says pathetically.

"We'll see," Bill says, demure and mysterious. He returns inside to slip his black and white striped shorts on, lacing them extra tightly and double knotting for good measure. Tom joins him, looks around to make certain the appropriate blinds are shut, and kisses along the sun-warmed stretch of skin between shoulder and throat.

"Mm," Tom says. "I think you've basted long enough."

Bill makes an indignant noise and jerks away. "I am not spare rations!"

"You are pretty spare, though," Tom replies, fingers nipping Bill's waist.

Bill protests, smacks Tom's hand, and grabs one of the two sets of snorkeling gear, the opened one – he left Tom's in the packaging so he'll know it's been untouched. "I'll be outside."

"Gotta grab my swim cap," Tom replies, and moves further into the bungalow.

Bill laughs. He's glad all over again he got rid of all the dreadlock extensions he'd had woven into his hair.

Tom may look as though he's got the more carefree hair styles of the two of them, most often, but he's so meticulous about caring for his hair it's bordering on compulsion. He won't give Tom hell about it right that minute, but he reserves the right to do it later.

The water is cool as he steps down into it from the ladder at the back of their deck. In his head, Bill is revising plans. He's pretty sure they'll be hungry by the time they swim out past the reefs and in to shore. There's plenty of restaurants within range of the docks where they'll be able to eat and put it on the Kaulitz tab. It's within the one to two p.m. range he's claimed for scheduled spontaneity and he smirks privately over that, then turns his attentions to kicking out into the cool embrace of the water. His fins send up a jet of water and he hears a "hey, watch it" behind him, grins, and gets a mouthful of seawater before he places his snorkel.

A moment later, Tom is beside him and Bill is enjoying himself. Together they splash along, side by side and never straying further than arm's reach from each other. Bill is reassured by the brush of Tom's fingers against his wrist that comes with every other sweep of his arms.

"This is amazing," Bill burbles happily into his snorkel, reaching up again and again to press the toggle on his bulky head gear that will take pictures. Tom's fingers circle his wrist and they surface.

"What?" Tom asks, pulling the snorkel from his mouth.

"It's like flying," Bill says, clearing his own.

A queasy expression crosses Tom's face. "If you say so," he says.

"Not like falling," Bill insists. He's still set on parachuting, some day, though Tom is dead set against it – and not particularly supportive of Bill doing so, either. "Like floating, watching everything drift by below us...weightless." There's a song there, maybe. Free of care. He kind of wishes he has a sharpie stowed away, but where would he write – his own arm? The white bands of his swim trunks.

"It's fun," Tom agrees. "You getting good pictures?"

Bill nods and secures his mouthpiece again. It will be something to show their mum, who is always pestering them for more pictures of their travels. They so rarely get the time to sightsee, to really kick around at any of the places they travel, and most of their free days are spent sleeping. And having sex, though no one knows it and they can hardly offer _that_ for a lack of pictures.

"He's on the move," Tom says, looking shoreward, and Bill's eyes follow automatically. In the distance he can see the glint of sun off a telephoto lense.

"Uff," Bill blows the exclamation of disgust into his snorkel, and resumes his forward glide.

Bill fins about, scooping water with his hands to turn and kicking vigorously to propel himself forward. He won't admit it to Tom but he'd take this over sky diving any day. They swim out toward the unrelenting blue of ocean and hover over reefs lit up with the play of sun, looking down beyond the edge of a shelf that plunges down into the black of deep water. They kick around until the film in Bill's camera headgear is spent, and the fingers that Tom brushes against his wrist to get his attention are withered and pruny.

When they paddle in to the shallows, swells tumble and break around their knees. Bill shakes free of the water, remembering Ingrid's playful 'mermaid' comment – Bill is the mermaid to Tom's pirate, and now Tom will never let him forget it.

"Let's go home first," Bill says, hiking his trunks up. They're stiff and cold with salt water. He wants to change instead of sitting a jet-ski with wet trunks.

Tom sprints after him, grinning like a puppy. "And sex?" he says eagerly.

Bill breaks into a grin of his own as though what Tom's got is contagious. "Pervert," he accuses. "Maybe a quick hand job, if you promise to blow me later?"

"I'll eat you out later," Tom says, blunt enough to make Bill's jaw drop.

"Tom!" Bill gasps, tugging at one leg of his swim trunks. "We are in public!"

Tom laughs and begins to jog, borking Bill on the thigh with one of his swim fins in passing. Bill hisses and breaks into a half-hearted run to catch up, forming vague plans of retaliation. They both drop their seawater and sand-crusted snorkeling gear to one side of the front door and Bill makes a mental note to tell the butler to have it anonymously donated to a swim school.

Barely three steps inside, Tom has him up against the door beside the shuttered blinds and he's licking at Bill's throat, rubbing wet lips up and down Bill's skin and over his collarbones. They don't make it to the shower. They don't make it to the bedroom, even. Tom gets a finger in him, dry, and rubs his prostate as they pant and hump and kiss until Bill comes in his shorts.

"Jackass," Bill complains, but he goes down on his knees for Tom and sucks until Tom's release bursts across his tongue.

Bill has to change his swim trunks, after all. Tom only has to change his inner layer – he wears briefs, boxers, and swim trunks; doesn't want to risk anyone seeing his package. He's had nightmares about it, Bill knows. Like any supportive twin, Bill ridicules him for it.

"We have to hurry," Bill urges, when they've put themselves to rights. Someone will probably question his mid-day change of beach wear, but Bill doesn't think he's gone through a day without multiple costume changes since he was about ten, so that's explicable. The trunks he selects harmonize better with the ones Tom's picked out today, and he sets out with renewed enthusiasm.

"Wait," Tom says, and adds, ever pragmatic, "sunglasses. There's glare on the water."

Bill nods. They fall into step together on their way up the beach, cigarettes started at the door. Tom slips a new unwrapped pack into his swim trunks. They walk in reflective silence over the molten sand until Tom tips his head and pours a stream of smoke in Bill's direction.

"Why did you say it?" Tom says out of nowhere.

Bill's head jerks up and he exhales his own drag. "Give me a bit more," he says. Most of the time they speak in shorthand, so much in tune, but Bill has just been pleasantly anticipating the kick of the jet-ski, the prospect of an enormous lunch, and sunning himself to a basking glow.

"Like I'd go off and date someone," Tom says, and takes a fierce drag. "I've never fucked around on you, Bill."

Bill makes a placating noise. "It's not fucking around if I'm okay with it."

"I don't want you to be okay with it!" Tom snaps.

"Like Chantelle?" Bill says, and holds his breath.

Tom releases a quiet, defeated breath. "That was different," he says. "She was..."

"Too nice for you," Bill says with a laugh, trying to defuse the tension.

"She was," Tom agrees. "She apologized. Like she had something to be sorry for."

"You liked her," Bill says softly.

Tom's head lifts. He squints at Bill and for once, his expression is unreadable. "Not like that," he replies at length. "Why would you think I'd want someone else, when I've got everything I want in you?"

"It's like the no-fault list," Bill says.

"It's not like that at all," Tom counters. "Are you...getting tired of me?"

"What? No!" Bill exclaims. The heat is sinking into the soles of his feet at last and he begins to quick-step over the hot sand. "I just...I only...sometimes I'm scared that I'm not enough for you."

Fingers brush over the back of his hand and Bill turns, coming to a stop. Tom's mask is firmly in place now, the solid lack of expression he uses when he's most hurt and won't show it.

"What am I doing wrong," Tom asks, "that you could ever be scared about that?"

Bill shakes his head. "It's stupid," he whispers.

"I'm your twin," Tom whispers back.

Bill nods. His throat is dry. "I told you, it's stupid," he says, then reminds Tom, "like you thinking I'd leave you some day for some dumb girl--"

"That was a valid fear, a reasonable assumption," Tom breaks in. "Before we started sleeping together, before we really...is this about Chantelle, again? You think that just because I could fool around with her on camera, that I want--"

"Babies," Bill blurts, and rolls his eyes. He sucks desperately at his cigarette until his eyes smart. "Mom wants babies. Someday. You know. And you kind of...you want to...I mean...you think about it." Bill knows.

Tom's shoulders rise and fall. "In an abstract kind of way," he says. "Come on, Bill. We're already parents, you and me. We're already a family. I don't have room in my heart for more."

Bill looks over at him, smile tugging at his mouth.

"I knew it would be unfair to any girl in my life, that she'd always come third or fourth best," Tom says, and twirls his spent cigarette butt in slim fingers. "Now I have you, all of you, and...that's not going to happen. Think of yourself as saving some girl a miserable, unfulfilled relationship with Tom Kaulitz." His lips twitch in something resembling a smile.

"Okay," Bill says, accepting the reality of them, the insularity of them, all over again. He wants to be reassured, after all.

"You said it for both of us, back then," Tom concludes. "You're it for me. I don't want anyone but you."

Bill bites his lip and nods. He reaches over...and slaps Tom's hand, breaking into a run. "Last one there rides in the bitch seat!" He tucks his arms in, lowers his head, and races the wind.

"Oh, you--" Tom swears behind him. "Shitty little mouse!"

Despite Bill's sneak trick, Tom dashes into the lead and reaches the dock ahead of him. It pisses Bill off, because his legs are incrementally longer than Tom's, though Tom is catching him up for height. Bill pouts at Tom, following him with it as their jet-ski is prepped, until Tom reaches over and tweaks his lip between thumb and forefinger.

"Snap up that pout," Tom says. "You'll get a turn later."

"Yeah, right," Bill says, because if he was driving, he'd rub Tom's face in the fact that Bill was sole driver of the jet-ski unless sexual favors were on offer.

Water sprays up behind them as Tom peels out of the dock exactly as they were warned not to. He pushes the jet-ski far and fast, leaps waves, cuts tight turns, and Bill whoops and hollers, clinging to Tom's waist. They pause, idling on the water, and trade sunglasses for Tom, because Bill's are more glare-resistant and the wraparounds keep the wind from cutting his eyes. The jet-ski is reserved for two hours and to Bill's surprise Tom lets him take a turn, after all. They swap seats like they've choreographed it, stepping to opposite sides of the jet-ski and bracing themselves on the seat, and trade sunglasses again. He drives until water droplets whip his face. When Bill steers them back toward the dock at last, they're laughing and breathless.

"Lunch at a restaurant?" Tom asks, looking to one of the nearby buildings.

"Rather do sandwiches and white wine at home," Bill replies. He's grubby, ready for a shower, and there's salt-sticky water drying in places Bill doesn't like to think about.

"Do those two things go together?" Tom teases.

"They do," Bill says, tilting his nose to a snooty angle. "Because I say so."

They could have lunch delivered, but the kitchen is stocked and it's nice to fend for themselves. They walk along the beach with another smoke, and raid the fridge together.

"I say," Bill begins, lifting a glass over the lunch table, "we get smashed on two or three bottles and do it until you fuck the come right out of me."

Tom's eyes widen, glaze; he stares around as though expecting the day's camera to be accompanied by a long-range microphone.

"No go?" Bill says sadly.

"Well," Tom says. "If I'd known that was your plan, I might have eaten less sandwich. I'm too full to do you justice."

"We'll lie out again," Bill decides. "Until we're good and drunk. Because we'll keep the wine coming."

"Okay," Tom replies. "Are you going to wear those little shorts again?"

"Definitely," Bill says. He fans his face with one hand and sets his wine aside. "But first, a water fight."

"Do I have to?" Tom whines.

"No," Bill says sweetly. "And I don't have to let you lube me up and penetrate me, but I'm going to."

"You've got a filthy mouth," Tom says, flushing. He sets aside his wine glass.

"And you're a wuss," Bill says, getting up to head for the pool. "A water wuss. All bark and no bite, you dog on a leash."

"But I'm so full," Tom says, patting his belly with solid thunks of his hand.

"So am I," Bill says, and turns a devilish look over his shoulder. "And I will be again, later. Unless a pirate is afraid of a pretty mermaid..."

"Oh, it's on," Tom growls, and he's up and out of his chair.

Bill squeals delightedly and splashes down into their private pool, which is more like a large hot tub, but still fun. They flail about until Bill dips down into the water to send a stream of it spouting at Tom, who makes the most unmanly squeak ever and flounders out blindly, splashing chlorine into Bill's eyes.

"That's disgusting!" Tom declares.

"Oh, please. Of all the fluids we've ever shared, that's what disgusts you?"

"It's pool water!"

"It's chlorinated...which you got in my eyes," Bill says fretfully. He's bent over, squinting, and the sun in his eyes isn't helping any.

"You okay?" Tom asks, hovering near, yet one hand cupping water in case Bill is faking him out. "Your eyes..."

"Burns worse than come," Bill declares, and hoists himself out of the pool.

"That was _one time_ ," Tom calls back, but he sounds amused. "You going to get us more wine?"

"Yeah, on the way back," Bill tells him, flapping a hand at his twin. "Go ahead and lay out again."

By the time Bill returns in his little black shorts, a glass of wine in each hand, Tom is laid out on his lounge chair again, shower cap doffed, looking relaxed and at ease. He opens his eyes as Bill approaches.

"A toast," Bill says, handing Tom's glass over.

"To you never pushing girls on me again," Tom mutters.

"Be serious," Bill says, pulling his glass back before they can clink to that. "Besides, the label does that enough for me, I think. Be careful who you're nice to at after parties."

Tom's mouth twists. "You say it, then," he says, quiet, but his eyes are alight.

"To us," Bill says.

"The pain of love," Tom agrees, and now they clink.

Bill grins at him, hopelessly gone for this one person for whom he shouldn't be, and sips at his white wine. They settle back into their places almost in unison.

"I wish once a year could last forever..."

Bill shades a hand over his eyes to look out over the smudged true-blue horizon. He's not sure which one of them said it aloud. He's full of longing, knowing at the same time that it's not possible.

Tom's foot stretches out to brush over Bill's ankle in a fleeting touch, reassuring. He doesn't say anything; he knows same as Bill does.

They haven't been born for a peace that will last longer than this.


	8. ...that you're making me feel tonight

"You two are getting along better," Jost said, leaning forward to tilt his shades down and catch Tom's eye. "Suspiciously better."

Tom shrugged and held his gaze long enough to make Jost look away first. "We resolved our differences," he replied, and there was only the faintest flicker of guilt, there and gone, for the fact that they'd resolved them by Tom caving in and giving Bill what he wanted, as usual.

Now there was only one thing left that Bill hadn't gotten him to do, and that was change the style of clothes he wore. Tom was going to stand his ground.

Bill leaned forward on the other side of Jost, picking up his fruity drink and flicking the umbrella to the side with one black nail. His eyes smoldered as he locked eyes with Tom and wrapped his lips around the straw, throat working as he swallowed.

Tom stifled a groan and looked in the other direction, out beyond the line of pure white beach and overarching sky. "Where's your girlfriend?" he asked their manager, shifting in his seat and thanking his hyperconscious habit of wearing two layers beneath his swim trunks. It would keep the beast contained, at least for a little while.

"Hungover," Jost replied with a laugh. He lifted his own cigarette and reclined in his chair, looking out over the beach, assuming a pleasant smile. "So I don't have to worry about the two of you anymore."

"You've never had to worry about us, not really," Bill spoke up at last, releasing his hapless straw. He tongued at his lip, avoiding Tom's eyes. "We would have worked it out sooner or later."

"I'm not going to ask," Jost said. He set his drink on the table and tucked his hand comfortably over his stomach.

"Good," Bill returned. "We're not going to tell you."

Jost barely smiled. "Make sure it doesn't interfere with things again," he advised. "We're used to a certain amount of fighting, of course, but the cold war you've had going on for the past two years..."

"Blah, blah, blah," Bill interrupted. "I told you, everything's fine." He sucked his straw into his mouth again.

Tom watched, fascinated, as Bill's lips closed around the straw. They had only made up the night before, and had gone back to the club to celebrate with several rounds of drinks. When they had stumbled back home, Bill had followed Tom into his room – or Tom had dragged him there, he couldn't quite recall – and they'd made out heavily before coming in their pants, half-undressed. He'd woken that morning with Bill drooling on his shoulder, sure that he'd never been happier in his life.

At that point he'd woken up wider, remembered what he'd agreed to the night before, and extricated himself from Bill for a shower and a freak-out. After he was done with his panic attack, he let himself think about it – really truly think about it – and between that and the fresh memory of warm, fragrant Bill in his arms, skilled hands and slick margarita tongue, Tom had jerked off. He really did want it, full-on penetrative sex with Bill; he'd never loved anyone more, or ever would.

After leaving a mash note beside Bill's pillow that he hoped his twin would have the sense to burn, but would probably keep tucked away somewhere, Tom threw on the bare minimum in clothing by resort standards and walked to the nearest convenient store. The clerk didn't even lift an eyebrow over his purchase – condoms, lube, and two bags of candy. Tom had said they'd need a few things, and he'd known Bill wouldn't let him wait long.

By long tradition, breakfast was the first meal of the day when they woke up, no matter how late they woke. Sometimes they woke at five or six in the evening, if it was a free day – or vacation. They'd still have breakfast. The fact that they were doing so with cocktails in their hands was typical, so far as vacations went. Tom had expected to get ambushed and basically raped at the breakfast table, but it was still a disappointment when Jost had stopped by to check up on them.

"Plans for the day?" Jost wanted to know.

Bill smirked. "Not much day left."

"Whose fault is that, mister one more round, the bar isn't closed yet?" Tom retorted with a matching smirk.

"You matched me drink for drink," Bill noted.

"Yeah," Tom said. "'Cause I can't get laid." He flicked his eyes toward their manager. Now more than ever, he'd have to get used to slipping in such tidbits to throw off the scent.

"Oh, I bet you could," Bill said thoughtfully, shifting in his chair until he was facing the beach.

Tom choked mid-sip and sputtered against his tropical umbrella. "'M fine," he croaked when Jost reached over to whack him between the shoulder blades. He wheezed, "Swallowed wrong."

Bill regarded him with patently innocent eyes. "Be careful, Tomi," he urged, nails tinking along the side of his glass. "You're the only twin I have." He raised his glass again and slurped the straw into his mouth, pink tongue curling around it.

Tom slumped back into his chair and picked up his own drink. "Yeah, yeah," he uttered hoarsely, trying not to glare at Jost out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't their manager's fault he'd stumbled into the middle of their reconciliation, and was completely oblivious. It wasn't Bill's fault he was wickedly alluring – though he wasn't doing anything to dampen the sex vibes he was putting out. And it wasn't Tom's cock's fault that he was going to burst before he even got close to coming inside his goal. Tom slammed his drink down and looked around for someone he could flag over to bring more.

"Hot tub, I guess, unless Tom wants to go to the beach or lay out some more," Bill said.

Tom blinked, realizing after a moment that Bill had answered Jost's earlier question.

"I dunno," Tom replied, easy. "Whatever you want to do."

"Hot tub it is," Bill returned. He sucked his drink dry and Tom had to look away, swallowing hard, as the straw suctioned around the empty glass, rattling chips of melting ice. "Jost? You joining us?"

"It's all yours, boys," Jost replied. "I'm planning on taking a tub with a certain sexy someone. Join us for dinner tomorrow night, okay?"

"Sure," Bill chirped, and Tom nodded, already fixated on the notion of hot tubbing with his own sexy someone, even if Bill would be a safe distance away. He was trying not to get too excited. He hadn't done a lot of messing around in hot tubs and knew he wasn't about to start now.

They said their farewells and arranged a time and place for dinner the next night. Bill hoisted himself out of his chair with sinuous grace once Jost was gone, leveling a scorching look over his shoulder on his way to the hot tub.

"Fuck," Tom said, shaky. It took two tries to get out of his seat. He was the one with more experience, and yet he was the one who felt like a dumb eager kid in the face of Bill's outright seductiveness.

He realized as he got up and followed Bill to the hot tub that he'd never had a chance, not really. All this time Bill hadn't tried using the full force of his sexuality on Tom. He'd tried to get him to agree to it, first - he'd played fair. If he'd crawled in bed with Tom, if he'd cock-teased him out of his mind, if he'd made an outright assault on Tom's senses...well. They would have done it by now.

Overcome with a surge of affection for his stubborn, crazy, intensely sexy little brother, Tom hurried to catch up. Bill had turned on the jets and was lowering himself into the tub, flicking coy little glances at Tom.

Something landed beside Tom's thigh as he swung his legs over the side of the tub, preparing to get in. Tom blinked at it. Damp white and blue patterned fabric.

"Bill," Tom said steadily. "What is that?"

"My trunks, silly," Bill replied.

"You can't just--" Tom began desperately. He dabbled his feet in the water and considered a strategic retreat to their bungalow.

"Oh, yes I can," Bill replied. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Mmm, feels so good. Tomi, you should try this." He cracked one eye open to gauge the effect of his encouragement on Tom.

Tom was on the verge of another panic attack. It was broad daylight, and even if there were no cameras, there was still resort staff. "Bill..." he began. This was making him too nervous for it to be sexy anymore.

"Oh, come on, Tom," Bill snapped. "Either throw me my trunks and climb in, or just climb in."

Tom climbed in.

"The jets are going strong enough I bet even you can't tell I'm naked," Bill said, slipping lower in the water until only his head was above the rim of the tub.

"Feels good," Tom said muzzily, trying not to think of naked Bill. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the floating sensation as the water bubbled around him.

Something brushed his shin, and Tom's eyes flew open.

"There you are," Bill said, sounding immensely satisfied.

"Ahh," Tom replied, incoherent as Bill's toes worked up his leg.

Bill eased closer to him on the tub bench.

"Don't," Tom said, fixing him with a look that he hoped was stern enough to indicate he was serious. He tongued his lip ring. "Not here, Bill, seriously."

Bill's lower lip jutted.

"Bill--" Tom began, and yelped when a pair of feet landed in his lap and Bill was even closer, his hair sleek with water, his dark eyes inviting.

"Want to rub my feet?" Bill murmured.

Tom groaned. "Want to go inside and rub something else?"

Bill laughed at him. "How you ever get laid with lines like that is a marvel to me," he said, easing one of his feet against Tom's thigh.

"You think it's charming," Tom ventured, grasping the nearest foot and kneading over the high arch and long toes.

"I do," Bill agreed with an impish smile. "Sometimes. But with girls, I think you get away with it mostly because of your looks."

"Probably," Tom said with a shrug. He massaged more determinedly at Bill's foot. He had no desire to talk about girls right now.

Bill's eyes fluttered. "Feels good," he praised, pushing his other foot further up Tom's lap and brushing long toes over the fabric bunching and billowing over Tom's cock.

"Ahh," Tom groaned, and considered reaching over and grasping Bill's naked cock, so long as they were playing unfairly. He pushed his hips up and Bill's toes dug in, pressing against the hardness swathed in prisoning layers of fabric.

Bill's eyes met his, dark with arousal, need. "I want to do it," he stated outright.

"Okay," Tom gave in without a whimper.

Bill's lips curved. "Tonight," he added. He sank back down in the tub and prodded Tom's aching dick with delicate toes. "Think you can keep it contained that long?"

"Until after sunset, at least," Tom agreed hoarsely. He reached down and gently guided Bill's feet out of his lap. "Stop teasing it if you're not gonna follow through."

Bill's eyes flared and he surged through the water toward Tom, crowding onto the bench beside him, invoking a second of terror where Tom thought he was going to be kissed. Not because he didn't want it, but for where they were – and the near certainty that he'd cooperate enthusiastically if Bill's lips moved over his, warm and firm and ultimately yielding.

Instead, Bill went for the blue and white swim trunks that had been left discarded on the rim of the tub near Tom's head. Raising a brow in challenge, he seated himself beside Tom and slipped the trunks on beneath the bubbling water. "I hear the build-up is the biggest part," he said.

Tom could only shrug. He'd had plenty of sex with girls, but all of his build-up had been over concerts, adrenaline, even getting hot and bothered over Bill himself, and unable – before – to follow through. "I'm not very good at holding back," he said, and faced Bill in the water, tonguing deliberately at his lip ring and holding his twin's eyes.

Bill bit his lip and the water shivered around his skinny shoulders as the jets came to a stop.

"We should..." Bill began, and tipped his head back, eyes closing as he pulled in a slow breath.

Tom took a risk and leaned over, needing to know for sure that Bill was turned on, too; that he wanted him this much. His seeking palm encountered hard flesh and Bill yelped, twisting away and sliding over the bench out of range before Tom could grasp it.

"We should order some more drinks!" Bill declared, hoisting himself half out of the tub and flailing an arm madly, trying to attract a staff person's attention.

Tom chuckled, certainty restored. It helped to know that his own affect on Bill was undiminished, though last night had been pretty good proof. They'd been so hot for each other they hadn't even managed to finish undressing. Tom would have been humiliated at coming so fast if Bill hadn't stiffened against him with that breathy little moan, letting him know he'd come, too.

"Whatever you're having, I'll have the same thing," Tom said, getting up to turn the jets back on. One more round wouldn't hurt them, for both drinks and hot tub.

"Did you get it?" Bill asked, settling further away, but not so far that he'd be out of reach if Tom wanted to lay hands on him.

"Huh?" Tom wondered, scratching at his nape, wondering if he actually needed another drink. Usually he had no problem keeping up with Bill, but that non sequitur had threatened to give him whiplash.

"The stuff," Bill clarified, and broke into a shy grin. "You know. You said you needed to get stuff..."

"Oh!" Tom exclaimed, and averted his face. He was probably turning red, and he was glad a raging erection would be difficult to see beneath the roiling water. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Mm." Bill settled back against the tub and closed his eyes.

They had another drink and a smoke before climbing out of the hot tub at last. The light was fading as Bill sashayed across the back deck and paused at the sliding door, giving Tom an unmistakably flirty look.

"Coming?" he wanted to know.

Tom scrambled to follow.

By the time he got the door shut and locked behind him and drew the blinds, Bill was nowhere in sight. There was, however, a pair of soaked white and blue swim trunks on the thick mat immediately inside the door.

"Oh, it's on," Tom said, determined not to let his virginal little brother get the best of him and yet turned on more than he ever recalled in his life.

He followed the trail of water droplets deeper into the bungalow and cocked his head as the sound of the shower started up. Tom hesitated in the hallway. This was entirely new territory. Go in, or let Bill have his turn in the shower?

He cracked the door and steam billowed into his face.

"What are you waiting for?" Bill's voice spurred him on.

Tom gripped the front of his boxers for a moment before pushing the door open. "Wasn't sure you wanted company," he called back. He pulled his trunks off, hanging them over the ample towel rack, and left his balled-up boxers and briefs in the sink.

"I always want your company," Bill informed him.

Tom nodded, took a breath to steady himself, and pulled aside the shower curtain. The sight of naked Bill greeted him, standing beneath the shower head with his lips faintly parted, both hands back and running through his hair. His eyes flashed over at Tom, dark and full of a need so deep it sparked an answering twinge within Tom's core. Tom climbed in beside him, careful to stay back away from the spray. He'd kept his dreads up off his neck all afternoon and he wasn't going to spoil the evening by getting them soaking wet.

When Tom put his arms around Bill, Bill turned and molded back against him as though it were the easiest, most natural thing in the world. His head came around and their lips met - a slow brush at first, then more demanding. Tom stroked Bill's chest and stomach as their mouths met again and again, faster, wetter.

"You taste like alcohol," Bill informed him, turning around, keeping an arm around his neck. Tom's hands descended to Bill's hips.

"Is that bad?" Tom wondered, pulling away a bit as Bill moved forward to kiss him again. He should probably brush his teeth.

"I like it," Bill said, casting him another sultry look and stepping forward until their bellies nudged. "I probably taste like it too; we were drinking the same thing." Hard flesh rubbed against Tom's thigh and he crowded closer, gripping Bill's hips tightly and mashing their mouths together until teeth clicked. Bill gasped and opened his mouth to him, and Tom swiped his tongue in, seeking and finding that taunt of a metal bead. They licked their tongues together and past one another and Bill grabbed Tom's ass, straining them closer.

"I want..." Bill began, and panted against Tom's cheek before they connected their mouths desperately again. "I want you in me, Tom."

Tom could only nod. "I want that too, so much," he murmured, and kissed Bill's mouth, the distinctive mole below it, and trailed little kisses up Bill's jaw before taking the lobe of his ear between his lips.

"Ohh," Bill groaned. He pushed against Tom, making their dicks rub up against and past one another. "Hurry, come on...let's get this over with."

Tom was bewildered for an instant before Bill grabbed the soap from the tray and began to lather up his front. He grunted, considered resistance for a second, then decided it was far more fun to cooperate with Bill's designs. Bill's hands moved over him in lazy circles, stroking, spreading suds everywhere. When he started to go behind Tom's balls, Tom yelped and swatted at him.

"You're such a baby," Bill said, and turned around again, ducking his head briefly under the spray. "Hurry up and do me, before the water gets cold."

Tom stared at the naked lines of Bill's back, struck dumb with lust. It took him a moment to realize that Bill had pressed the soap into his hands; all he could do was look down at Bill's little ass and he wanted it, more than anything. He wanted to stroke it, run a finger down the crease and stroke inside, wanted to fit his cock there and hot-dog him...it would be over way too soon if Tom did a fraction of the things he wanted. He rubbed the soap between his hands to get it started, and trailed his hands down Bill's back, working his way firmly to the tight high cheeks that drew him in.

Bill arched his back and braced himself against the tiled wall, presenting himself.

"Oh god," Tom uttered, running his hands up and down Bill's sides. He was going to explode. His dick was begging to thrust into the shadowed cleft between Bill's cheeks. It was all he could do to trail a soapy finger down there.

Bill made a pleased noise and pushed back against him.

"You're going to kill me," Tom said hoarsely, doing it again. It wasn't merely the steam heat of the shower. Bill was so hot, especially the delicate skin right around that tiny hole. That little hole that somehow, Tom was getting inside. It didn't seem possible.

"Don't spend too much time down there with the soap," Bill warned him. "You'll make it burn. Just make sure it's clean."

Hastily Tom pulled his finger away and rinsed it off before directing a stream of water into Bill's crack, resting his hand against one cheek to pull it apart somewhat.

Bill shut the water off and turned around again, lithe as a seal in his arms, and his mouth was on Tom's again. Tom's arms tightened around him at once.

"Everything...okay?" Tom said vaguely, once Bill let him up for air. He knew the mechanics for anal and knew from some very unfortunate conversations that some times were better than others. Meaning sometimes it shouldn't happen at all.

"Hmm?" Bill mumbled, bending his head to kiss Tom's shoulder. He tongued along his clavicle and Tom shuddered, taking Bill's ass in both hands and grinding their bodies together.

"Are you...good to go?" Tom wanted to know. If Bill wanted to wait until later, he was fine with that.

Though, as Bill pressed against him, warm and beautiful and smelling incredibly good, Tom knew they were going to do _something_. A great deal more than humping and falling asleep in a sated heap.

"Huh?" Bill said, and his eyes widened. "Oh! Um, yes. God, Tom, don't make it unsexy." He reddened.

"Making sure we're both properly prepared will make it plenty sexy later," Tom assured him. "You wanna...where do you want to?"

"Do it?" Bill murmured, and pushed their faces close. He breathed Tom's air, swayed against him, and fluttered his eyelashes over Tom's cheek in an indirect kiss. His lips brushed over Tom's cheek bone. "Your bed. I want to do it in your bed. And then it'll be our bed, yours and mine."

Tom sucked in a breath, terrified and proud all at once. Bill wanted him this much; they were going to do it. It was going to change everything, and he wanted to so badly. They couldn't be like they had been before, but Tom was starting to realize it would be better, so much better...and in some ways, worse.

"But soon," Bill added, sounding frantic and pushing against Tom's belly again. "I swear to god, I'm going to come."

Tom's lips curved in a wicked smirk. "Come on," he said, and peeled away from Bill to lead the way out of the shower.

He tossed a towel over Bill's head and toweled him off until Bill was squealing, red-faced and begging for mercy. The erection subsided a bit, but Tom knew the need was still there. Bill returned the favor, swiping Tom dry as they kissed, a slow hot joining of their lips as tongues played back and forth between them. The first kisses Tom had enjoyed in two years were amazing, making him want to kick himself for going so long without.

At last, though the towel was still between them, the swipes intended to dry had tapered off into caresses. Bill rubbed down Tom's front without parting from his mouth, rolling the bead of his tongue stud against Tom's palate, gasping as Tom surged forward to press him to the wall.

"Bed," Tom said into Bill's ear.

This time it was Bill's turn to nod, speechless.

Tom grinned at him and hung their towels up before leading Bill by the hand into the other room. The blinds were shuttered, as they had been since the two of them had first checked in. They both preferred their privacy and this, their togetherness, sealed the deal. Tom guided Bill to a seat on the bed and Bill looked up at him curiously.

"It's been a really long time, so don't make fun of me if this is bad," Tom told him. He lowered himself to his knees, holding onto Bill's thighs, and drew Bill's stiffening cock into his mouth.

"Tom...Tom!" Bill cried out, clawing at Tom's bundled dreads. His hips rocked up and Tom choked, drawing hastily back. "Oh...oh shit, are you okay?"

"Beautiful," Tom rasped, but he had to cough a bit before he leaned back across Bill's long thighs, letting Bill pet anxiously at his throat and jaw.

"Sorry," Bill said, touching his lips.

"It's okay," Tom assured him. He bent over Bill's lap and took his hard cock in hand again.

"Tom..." Bill moaned, sounding turned on and desperate. He kept touching Tom's face and shoulders as Tom took the head of Bill's dick between his lips. Tom sheathed his teeth with his lips and went down with sloppy enthusiasm, rolling his wet, stretched lips up and down over Bill's hard flesh. "No...ahh, no!"

Tom pulled off and rubbed the wet tip against his lower lip, guessing that the friction of his lip ring might feel pretty good. If the way Bill's eyes rolled back in his head was any indication, it did. "No? You don't like it?" Bill's cock was so hard and red, like Tom's, the way Tom knew they got when they were ready to come.

"I'm gonna lose it," Bill gasped. Fingers scrabbled at Tom's collarbone.

"Yeah," Tom said. "I want you to."

Bill frowned. "I want to come when you're in me."

Tom groaned a little and had to push his own hard cock against Bill's leg. He couldn't be sure he wasn't going to lose it, too. "It's okay," he assured Bill. "Come now, because I can tell you really need to. And I'll make sure you come later, when I finally enter you."

Bill's eyes widened as though he hadn't realized that was an option.

"It'll be better if you're all relaxed from your first orgasm," Tom said knowledgeably.

"Okay," Bill told him, breathy, and leaned back.

Tom nodded and took Bill's cock in his mouth again. He loved doing this for Bill the way he'd never enjoyed the times he'd gone down on girls, though they'd always told him he was good, he was the best. He strove for a more satisfying kind of expertise now as he lipped the head of Bill's cock, swirled his tongue all around it, and began to jack it into his mouth. He stretched his lips down and bobbed up and down until Bill shouted.

This time Tom was prepared. He braced himself on Bill's thighs and drew back until only the head of Bill's cock was on his tongue. He licked around the rim, thrilling his tongue at the sensitive nerve cluster below the head as his hand worked up and down the spit-slick length.

Bill cried out something wordless but sincere-sounding. The hard flesh in Tom's mouth jolted and Tom struggled to cope with burst after burst of come. It was bitter-salt and not the best taste in the world but it was Bill's, and he swallowed it all. He worked Bill's dick with lips and tongue until Bill pulled away with a whimper.

"Good?" Tom whispered, somewhat hoarse. He massaged the hinge of one side of his jaw. He'd probably still feel that tomorrow - Bill was bigger than the last time they'd done it.

"Get up here," Bill demanded, stroking his face.

Tom grinned and crawled onto the bed beside him. He was kissed within an inch of his life before he even settled.

"That...was so...good," Bill informed him between heavy kisses. He stroked down Tom's stomach and reached for his cock.

"No, leave it alone," Tom protested, pushing Bill's hand away. "You want it in you, right? I'm gonna come if I so much as rub against you, I swear."

Bill grinned impishly against his mouth and kissed him hard again. "So, what next?"

Tom inhaled, trying to regain control of himself. He stroked over Bill's belly, making his twin shiver. "I can't just put it in you," he explained. "I've got to, you know, get my fingers in you first, loosen you up..."

"Okay," Bill said, nodding. His breath quickened. "Okay, let's do it."

Tom had to tackle him for another kiss, first. Bill giggled and squirmed and opened his thighs as Tom settled between them, pressing them chest to chest.

"Ohh," Tom groaned as Bill undulated beneath him. "Not too much of that."

"So get the stuff," Bill mumbled, smoothing hands over Tom's back and pushing up against him.

Tom groaned again and climbed off Bill, mostly because he had to or he'd come. He retrieved a condom and the lube from where he'd stowed them in the nightstand and returned quickly, kneeling over Bill.

"Hey," he said, touching his face, ruffling at Bill's hair.

Bill gravitated into the touch, regarding the condom on the pillow next to his. "A condom?" he said in a small voice.

"Yeah, well...yeah," Tom said, licking his lips.

"But you've always been safe, right?" Bill continued in that small, disappointed voice.

Tom sighed. "Yeah, and I'm going to keep being safe, with you," he stated. He stroked his fingers through Bill's hair and against his cheek. "Gotta get tested, Billy. We'll be safe until I test clean. I'm not _ever_ going to risk hurting you."

Bill shrank under the intensity of Tom's statement and Tom lowered himself onto Bill again, kissing him, catching at his lips with soft open-mouthed kisses until Bill moaned and parted his lips to Tom again.

"Okay, fine," Bill said at last, breathless, curving his hands over Tom's hips and pushing himself up. "So you're going to finger me now?"

Tom laughed. "Don't make it sound romantic, or anything."

Bill arched a brow. "You try shoving something up your ass and see how romantic it makes you feel," he invited.

Tom sprawled out beside Bill, arranging himself comfortably propped on one elbow so that he could lean in, kiss Bill, and still reach down to touch behind Bill's balls. "I have it on good authority it's going to make you feel spectacular," he said, a little smug. He wasn't sure if Bill knew about the prostate or not...or what would happen when Tom touched it. It was possible he would enjoy it about as much as a rectal exam.

That made Tom deflate a bit, and Bill noticed.

"Hey," he said, leaning in until their chests pressed together. "This is us." He kissed the corner of Tom's mouth.

Tom nodded and reached for the lube. He cracked the seal and squirted some onto his fingers, wincing at the cold, wet mess it made. If he'd really been thinking ahead, he would have set it in a warm water bath, or something to warm it up.

"Stay on your side," he murmured, planting little kisses around Bill's mouth, then capturing his lower lip. "Lift up that leg a bit...okay. Relaxed?"

"I feel good," Bill assured him.

"Good, because this might be kind of cold," Tom warned him. He pressed their mouths together and busied Bill with his tongue while he sent his fingers trailing down below Bill's groin. Bill wasn't hard again, yet, but he wasn't exactly soft.

Bill mmmphed into the kiss, his noise protesting, as Tom circled Bill's little hole with his index finger, dabbling lube around it. His tongue stilled against Tom's, but Tom kept kissing him slowly, insistently while he kept up a circular, unthreatening movement with his index finger. At last Bill began to kiss him back again. Tom explored all around the little pucker until the skin was hot beneath his fingertip before he slipped it inside.

"Ahh...oh!" Bill made a gentle, shocked sound against his tongue and began to pull his face away.

Tom froze. "Bad?" he wanted to know. He was worried; his finger was barely in there. If that was bad, how would Bill handle all of Tom? He didn't suffer from false modesty. He knew he was big. Not huge, but big enough that it probably would give them trouble, cause Bill pain maybe, unless he was very relaxed.

"Weird," Bill grunted, and took a deep breath. "Keep going."

Tom kissed Bill's slack mouth. "You sure?"

Bill nodded, lips twitching as he kissed back belatedly. "Yeah, just...yeah. It's weird, that's all. Something going in."

"You never fingered yourself?" Tom teased. He wiggled his finger and got it in there. Hot, silken-soft walls gripped his finger at once and Tom stopped breathing.

Jesus, he was supposed to get his cock in there? He would lose it, instantly. Then Bill would laugh at him, Tom would die of mortification, and they'd have to go back to being only brothers because the shame of premature ejaculation would haunt him forever.

Bill made a scandalized noise in his throat. "No way, I was holding out for you," he replied.

Tom sniffed a bit at that, overcome. "Bibi, you waited for me? Completely?"

"Don't call me that!" Bill hissed, and crowded closer against him. He hooked a hand around Tom's neck and kissed him, hard. "Of course I waited; how else could I be yours completely?"

Tom kissed him back. "You've always been mine completely. I just never knew how much."

Bill made another noise and bit Tom's lip. "Enough sap," he proclaimed. "More fingering."

Tom grinned and captured Bill's lips for another slow kiss, realizing at the same time as he began to move his finger in and out that the steely clamp-down on it had relaxed. He pressed his finger in until it wouldn't go anymore and Bill was making soft anxious noises into their kiss.

"Still weird?" Tom whispered.

"Why are we whispering?" Bill whispered back, and wiggled back against Tom's finger. He continued in a normal tone, "Give me another one."

Tom did, adding more lube and pressing two fingers in to the second knuckle. He started to scissor them, spreading apart.

"Ouch!" Bill cried at once.

"What?" Tom demanded, freezing again.

"That hurt," Bill hissed, glaring at him. "Stick to moving them in and out; I liked that."

Tom dropped a kiss to Bill's shoulder to hide his sudden grin. "Got it," he said, filing that away.

Fingering Bill was different from fingering a girl, but Tom was a fast learner. He pressed in deep, swiping his fingers around and rubbing against the inner walls. He kept Bill's mouth occupied with involved kisses. Not only did he really enjoy kissing Bill - and knew Bill liked it too, the way he was crowding Tom's thigh with a returning hard-on - but it was keeping him relaxed, too.

Bill stiffened against him and moaned, his voice going fluttery; weak. "Wh-what was that?"

Tom nipped at Bill's lips and played their tongues together, going for that same spot with his longest finger.

Bill cried out weakly again, crowding against Tom's front. His grip on Tom was tight, so molten hot Tom wanted to check Bill for a fever, but Tom's fingers were moving in and out with ease.

"Fuck," Bill grunted, and his hips lurched against Tom. "Oh god, I'm hard again."

"Told you," Tom said, and nuzzled against Bill's lips until they opened for him again. "Did I find your special place?"

"Oh god, don't call it that," Bill whined.

"Love button?" Tom suggested.

"I will hit you, Tom Kaulitz," Bill threatened. "Whether you're in me or not."

Tom grinned and snagged Bill's lips with his. Bill mrrphed a protest and Tom kissed him harder, finessing his lips open. He planted a final kiss on Bill's parted lips once he was done plundering between them again and whispered, "Your little spot?"

Bill shuddered. "Sure, okay," he acquiesced. "Hit my little spot again?"

Tom grinned and pressed his fingers in; curving, nudging.

Bill whimpered and bit Tom's lip. "Are you going to get in me, now?"

Tom had to force himself to breathe in and out, nice and slow. "I'm going to give you another finger now," he decided. He used more lube, making Bill complain at the coldness of the slippery substance again, and teased three fingers in and out until Bill was rocking against him, his dick hard and red beside Tom's.

"Think you could take another?" Tom wanted to know, kissing at Bill again, whose eyes were mostly closed and his face drawn in what looked like exquisite pain, but Tom read as pleasure.

"I think I could take your dick," Bill gasped out, eyes still closed. He groaned and moved back on Tom's fingers, opening his eyes to fix Tom with a searing look. "Don't you think I'm ready?"

Tom thought he was, but he was also nervous as hell. He'd never fucked a boy before, let alone his precious twin brother for whom he'd take a bullet rather than see him hurt. Yet he knew this was going to hurt, at least at first – the first time always hurt, for the one who was taking it. He pulled his fingers free of Bill's body carefully, getting up on his knees and stroking Bill's face with his clean hand. "How do you want to do it?"

Bill opened his mouth, frowned, and rolled onto his back. "Like this," he said, raising his legs to take a knee in each hand. It spread him open for Tom's gaze and he got to see everything for the first time, as he hadn't when he was fingering Bill; the way the small pink hole glistened, slicked up with generous amounts of lube. Without fingers in there it was already closed.

Fascinated, Tom reached out and touched it again, slipping two fingers back up in there. Bill cried out and his body opened to Tom's touch. He was turned on, relaxed and ready.

"Okay," Tom decided, pulling his fingers out again with a suddenness that made Bill moan a complaint. "You look ready; you look so good." He couldn't keep his eyes off the dusky-rose flesh of Bill's smooth waxed-bare bits, the hairless globe of his ball sac, the tight swells of his rear. Lying thick and red on his stomach, his cock was full and hard and beautiful. Tom wanted to taste it, but he also wanted to get in Bill more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

"I'm ready, I'm so ready for you," Bill assured him. His dark eyes were alight with love and trust. "I've been ready for you for so long."

He waited, eyes on Tom and knees still drawn up, as Tom sat back on his heels and rolled the condom down over his cock. The touch of the lube even through the condom's skin was cold enough to make Tom grit his teeth, and thankfully dampened his rampant erection enough that he stopped worrying as much about spending himself the instant he got inside Bill. When he positioned himself over Bill, holding his tip to the sweet little hole he'd tried so hard not to think about for so long, his chest ached with all the feelings he couldn't contain. He looked down into Bill's eyes and tried to smile. His eyes pricked.

"I love you," he told Bill, meaning it in every sense of the word. As Bill had told Tom the night before, 'you're it for me.' That was true for Tom, too.

"Show me," Bill invited, breathless.

Tom nodded and nudged his cock against Bill's hole. The heat of it radiated against his tip even through the condom, or maybe he only imagined that it did. Tom groaned and pressed forward and the delicate flesh parted around the head of his cock, stretching to accommodate.

"Oh," Bill whispered, his eyes already watering.

"You all right?" Tom asked, anxious, pausing with only the head and a bit more inside.

"Hurts," Bill whimpered, and bit his lip.

"Relax," Tom said, and stroked one of Bill's tensed thighs. "You're so tight." He was, he really was; Bill's entrance was clamped down around him harder than anything that had ever gripped Tom's dick and sympathetic tears were smarting in his own eyes.

"Aaagh," Bill volunteered, and stifled a sob.

"I'm going to pull out," Tom said at once. Bill was going soft.

"Don't!" Bill exclaimed, his legs unwinding and hooking up around Tom's sides. They both groaned as Tom's cock slid in deeper. "Oh, uhhh, ahhn."

Tom held himself motionless over Bill and tried not to breathe. He was no longer worried about coming at all. Bill was hotter and tighter than he'd ever imagined, but he was in so much pain that Tom's teeth were gritting in sympathy.

"Is it in?" Bill wanted to know, slitting his eyes, expression etched in agonized lines.

Tom braced himself above Bill to look down at where they were joined. It was the most erotic sight he'd ever seen in his life and he couldn't even enjoy it. "Um, about half," he replied, and eased forward a bit, unable to help himself. All his instincts were jumbled, urging him to ride in until they were fully joined and pump away, but also to protect Bill, to pull back so that he was no longer hurting.

Bill screwed his face up and whimpered. "Ah, god," he panted.

Tom hovered over him, smoothing one hand over Bill's chest, petting down over his belly and wrapping a hand over Bill's cock. He stayed where he was and tried to jack Bill gently back to full hardness. "This isn't working," Tom said after a long moment while Bill's ass clenched tight enough around him to prevent further movement. "I'm too big for you like this, Bibi." He leaned back on his heels and it was much easier coming out.

"No!" Bill exclaimed, lurching up, one foot catching Tom across the chest. "How are we supposed to do it, then? You're just...you're fucking big, Tom; I'll have to get used to it." He sat up to throw his arms around Tom's shoulders, dark hair in disarray.

"That takes time," Tom said, gathering Bill in his arms. Bill made a disconsolate noise as Tom moved in for a kiss, turning his face away so that Tom's lips landed on his jaw. "We should do it front to back. It'll be easier for you that way."

Bill frowned over at him. "But I want to see your face," he insisted, reaching up to brush his fingertips along Tom's cheekbone.

"I think we're going to have to work up to that," Tom said, and gripped at Bill's hand, guiding it to his cock. "If you want this in you tonight..."

"I do," Bill said, setting his jaw.

"Well, I'm not going to hurt you," Tom said, equally stubborn.

Bill sighed. "Kiss me," he said, brushing along Tom's cheekbone again.

Tom cupped Bill's face with one hand and guided their lips together, slow but sure. The last of his doubts had melted away like morning fog at the sun's touch. Bill was everything to him, and this seemed like a natural extension. When they broke the kiss, Bill licked his lip thoughtfully, smiled at him, and turned around.

He arranged himself on hands and knees and looked over his shoulder at Tom. "Like this?" Bill asked, raising his pierced brow.

Once again Tom was confronted with the irresistible lure of dusky pink flesh, the deepest, reddest color around Bill's entrance still glistening with lube. He applied more lube to his own cock, tested Bill's hole with his fingers again, and took a deep breath. "You want fingers again?" Tom asked hoarsely, wondering if he should try to stretch Bill some more.

"Your dick," Bill replied bluntly. "I want your dick, Tom. Now."

Tom nodded, blew out a sigh, and reared up behind Bill. He rubbed his cock against Bill's hole until Bill whispered 'do it, put it in me.' With one hand, Tom held onto Bill's hipbone as he guided his cock in with the other, mounting slowly. They both groaned and Bill widened his legs, reaching down to grab his own cock and jerk it with rough strokes.

"So big," Bill said, sounding awed. He made an amazed, sexy little noise and his head went down. "Keep going. Fill me up."

Tom trembled. Bill's back was dewed with sweat and he skimmed a hand over it. Both hands went to Bill's hips as he moved over and against him, pushing his dick into the scorching, yielding heat that gripped him like flexible steel. Bill was still incredibly tight but there was some give, now. Tom paused and reached down to replace Bill's hand with his own, wrapping his hand around Bill's cock and delivering slow, steady pulls.

Bill gasped. He moved under Tom, going back and forth. Something inside opened around Tom's dick and with a grateful moan Tom nudged inside all the way, until his hips were flush with Bill's tiny ass.

"Oh god," Bill gasped out, and lowered his head with a moan. "You're in me, you're really in me."

"I am, I really am," Tom agreed with surprise. He kept squeezing Bill's dick with a gentle, insistent hand as he withdrew slowly, then pressed his cock back in. "Better?"

"Mmmf," Bill responded, but it wasn't a pained noise. "It's...ah, fuck! You're big."

"Sorry," Tom panted, beginning to ease back and forth in slow, shallow thrusts. "Is this okay? Should I go slower?"

"I think if you were going any slower you wouldn't be moving at all," Bill said, and groaned again, arching his back. He yelped and tightened down around Tom.

"Bill?" Tom demanded anxiously, stilling his movement.

"You hit it," Bill told him, sounding exhilarated. "You hit my spot...hit it again, Tomi." He panted harder, rocking back against Tom with slow, cautious motions.

"Do my best," Tom gritted. He settled both his hands to Bill's hips again and recalled that it had happened when Bill arched. Guiding him into that position again, Tom thrust gently forward.

Bill loosed a low, satisfied groan and pressed back against him.

Tom looked down in astonishment at the place where Bill's delicate skin was stretched taut around his girth. He panted, giving Bill more careful thrusts and watching his cock go in and out, making the hottest, most obscenely amazing noises he'd heard in his life.

"...'s good," Bill managed, breath speeding up, but he still sounded pained.

"Still hurts?" Tom asked him.

"Ahh...ahhh...yeah, but it's good, too. Don't stop," Bill replied. He keened and arched his back again, folding his torso down further toward the bed, and his breath sped up.

Tom's breath quickened to match. He didn't think he _could_ stop, now; he was fully committed. He pulled out and pushed back in, stroked Bill's sweaty back, whispered urgent, pleasant nothings to him, and began to really move his cock in and out as Bill relaxed further.

"Ahh...oh my god!" Bill's head was nearly set against the bed now as Tom gripped at his hips and pumped behind him.

Tom responded with a low groan, wordless. Out of all the words between them, he couldn't come up with any to describe how wonderful it was to be inside Bill, to be _with_ Bill. All he could do was hold onto Bill's hips for dear life and give him more cock, nestling their hips together and pulsing, drawing out as much as he could stand before seating it in tight heat as Bill sucked him back in.

"Yes...yes, ah, yes!" Bill chanted, sounding amazed. With a surprised, trilling moan he tilted his hips and clenched down so hard around Tom that Tom thought, for a frenzied second, he'd hurt Bill somehow. He realized in the next moment that Bill was coming, clamping down on Tom as he spilled his load over the bedspread.

Rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles over Bill's hips, Tom began to work his cock out until Bill whispered, "Come on, do it, come in me." He was so tight around Tom's dick it was almost painful.

With a moan, Tom gave in and pushed at Bill's back again, angling him down into that open position. He pulsed against Bill's ass and held on so tightly to Bill's hips it was sure to leave bruises later. Tom began to really thrust; long, jagged pumping motions as he fucked into Bill's ass, opening him up, claiming him.

It didn't take much. Tom's head fell back and he came, still thrusting into Bill, holding onto him with both hands. He rolled his hips a few more times, filling the condom, and withdrew shaking. He nearly collapsed onto the bedspread but not before he examined Bill, visually and with careful fingers. The flesh was red, a distressing red; it looked inflamed and swollen, but there was no bleeding. Nothing...worse.

"I'm fine," Bill informed him, flipping around to face him. He sniffed deeply and grinned.

"Smells like sex," Tom told him, rolling onto his back. He was too exhausted to pull off the condom.

Bill did it for him, turning to chuck it for the bedside trash. He returned and patted Tom's softening cock as though to reward it for a job well done.

"Come here," Tom told him, raising an arm.

Bill settled down beside him, pliant and flushed and looking absolutely debauched – and very unrepentant. He rubbed at his rear and grunted. "I'm not going to want to do that tomorrow...but soon. Definitely soon again."

"So what's the verdict?" Tom wanted to know, and almost held his breath.

Bill's grin was all sharp mischief, but his eyes were wondering and soft. "You love me an awful lot," he replied.

"With everything I am," Tom replied, stroking Bill's cooling flesh and knowing he could always, always count on the same from Bill.

They fell asleep entwined.


	9. it's hard to let it go

Tom likes to watch Bill sleeping, but Bill thinks it's creepy and so Tom tries to get his fill before Bill wakes. He knows all the small cues, nose twitching and mouth pursing, that clue him in to Bill's imminent wakefulness. He sits for as long as he can as the light pushes its relentless way past the blinds, making the room ever brighter, easier to admire the innocence of Bill's face in repose. No matter what they do or who would call it wrong, there's still a purity that clings to Bill. It's a sense that he's too good for the world, and that bundled together with the love that seizes up his chest, drawing his throat tight, makes Tom worry for Bill more than anything. Tom traces hair back from Bill's face, making his nose twitch harder, and remembers the very first time. A little smile touches his lips, proud and sad in equal measures. He still wonders to this day if he did the right thing.

He knows he wouldn't change it.

When Bill's eyes stop moving beneath his lids, Tom is up and on his way to the door, crooking a glance over his shoulder to make sure Bill's not quite there yet.

There's a coffee maker in the kitchen and he makes use of it, brewing a cup and making a circuit through quiet empty rooms as the percolator gurgles and ticks away. They packed the night before and Tom always does a last check, and Bill does one more, so between the two of them they haven't lost much over the years. Tom lights up a cigarette as he pours himself a cup of coffee, sighs at the view, and turns for the bedroom with a second cup in hand. His cigarette juts from one corner of his mouth.

By the time Tom returns to their bedroom Bill's eyes are open, though he's still curled on his side like a lazy feline. His black hair is mussed around his forehead, long strands covering the shaved side, and he gives Tom a deceptively sleepy smile at his approach.

"Coffee and cigarettes," Bill says, gripping the handle of the mug Tom passes to him. "The vacation is definitely over."

"Not quite," Tom disagrees, setting his own mug down and reaching out to stroke Bill's cheek, turning it into a caress down his neck and shoulder and the clean line of his sheet-draped side. "I can still do this."

Bill's eyelashes flutter and a soft noise escapes him. He looks up at Tom with a slow smile. "We can do that when we're not on vacation," he assures him.

Tom's answering smile is a touch sad. _Not whenever we want to,_ he almost says, but keeps it to himself. They're tanned and relaxed and happy, and if Tom is reluctant to go back, where they'll have to be on guard every moment, it's simply the price of who they are. "Good dreams?" he asks instead, changing the subject.

"Mmm," Bill murmurs, stretching out feline-lithe and making Tom want to have him all over again, though they had a marathon session that lasted so long the night before he's surprised they're both capable of motion this morning. "Dreamed about the past. You know...the first time." The sheet slips down his chest, revealing small dark nipples that are tightening.

Tom can't resist running a finger over the closest one, making it harden to a little peak. He tugs on the silver ring and Bill whines. "Me too," he says, unsurprised. They share so much of themselves, their lives, that sharing dreams is simply another expression of their togetherness. "God, you were so good."

"I was crap," Bill says with a laugh, waving his hand. "Good thing you were so in love with me. All I did was lay there and take it."

Tom chuckles in response, leaning in and nudging his nose against Bill's, nuzzling at him before planting a quick kiss on his lips. "Am," he responds. "I am in love with you. And you're short-changing yourself. You were amazing."

"For a first time, maybe," Bill says, looking as though he's sorry he brought it up. "I'm _much_ better at it now." He casts a burning look at Tom through his lashes.

Tom takes a strong drag of his cigarette to quell the other urge that's rising. "It was never about being a fiend in the sack," he says. "What mattered the most was being with you."

Bill grins, swallows coffee, and sits up. "And the fact that I'm the tightest, hottest thing you've ever had was incidental," he baits Tom, leaning forward as though to kiss him.

Tom exhales a reflective curl of smoke. "Pretty much." He can't resist leaning over to slap Bill's ass.

Bill squawks in outrage and reaches out to snag the waistband of Tom's jeans to pants him, but Tom is ready for it and rises out of range laughing, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other. He walks over to the blinds that have been shut for most of their trip. "Ready for the light?"

At Bill's nod, Tom pulls the blinds. He turns to look at half-naked Bill bathed in late morning sunlight, golden and half-squinting, black hair mussed, face bare, and utterly beautiful to him.

"Breakfast?" Bill mumbles.

"Yeah, where do you want it?" Tom wants to know. The butler has delivered the last food they'll enjoy together at their getaway bungalow, and he's simply been waiting for Bill.

Bill sets his coffee to the side, stretches both arms up, and the sheet rides even further down his body, pooling over his thighs. "Mmm, in here," he replies.

"Really?" Tom says, amused. He'd expected Bill to join him for one last sit-down on the back deck.

"Nah," Bill decides, climbing out of bed and scratching down one thigh.

"Whoa, naked," Tom says, raising his mug and waving it like a cautionary flag.

Bill's brows climb. "You've seen everything before," he begins.

"The rest of the world hasn't, and I want to keep it that way," Tom counters.

"Oh, yeah."

After throwing on his skimpy sunning shorts and a robe, Bill joins him as Tom trails through the bungalow on his way to the back deck, reminiscing over all the places they've done it. They managed every room over the course of their week, about every position from their repertoire, and Tom actually did manage to screw into Bill for nearly an hour as they put on one of the big, bright LCD displays. He knows his fond smile is verging on goofy as he pushes open the door to the back deck.

Bill dumps himself into the chair beside Tom's and plays footsie with him as Tom refreshes their coffee. His black-painted nails tap along the sides of his mug. "So, when we go to the San Remo festival--"

Tom interrupts him with a groan and an upraised hand. "No business this morning; we're still on vacation, okay? At least, for as long as I can see turquoise-blue water."

Bill snickers at him. "Such a stickler, Tomi." He hides his little smile behind an upraised mug. "I know, I'm not ready to go back quite yet, either."

"I don't want to go back," Tom admits after a long moment, setting down knife and toast.

Bill gives a short laugh and toys with his fork for a moment before leaning back in his chair and squinting across the table at Tom. "Wait, you mean that," he says after a moment in a very soft, surprised tone.

Tom shrugs. He's never had a thought that he could keep from Bill. Even though he'd managed to keep from Bill for two years the fact that he hadn't succumbed to Bill because he'd been sure Bill would leave him for 'true love' some day, in the end it had come to light. They shared everything, absolutely everything, and dealt with it together. Sometimes Tom was frustrated at his younger self for keeping them apart for two whole years; other times he thought they'd needed it, to mature in some ways and realize that for them, what they had _now_ was the only viable option.

"How would that look, Tom?" Bill asks, in that same gentle, almost overly careful tone. "What would we do?"

Tom shrugs. They don't exactly have money to burn, but they've got enough that they could be comfortable for a very long time, what with investment dividends. Especially if they tucked themselves away some place obscure. "It's just end of vacation talk," he dismisses the thought with a flick of his fingers. He reaches for the last of his coffee and smiles over at Bill.

Bill continues to look thoughtful; he's not fooled.

"It's only...you know how tired of it I've been getting," Tom tries to explain the thought more fully. "Wearing ourselves out flying from one place to another to answer the same stupid questions from people who obviously didn't bother to do five minutes of research on us. Pretending to be that same fifteen-year old kid who fucked around with groupies, because anything else would ruin us. Fighting all of the time so you can do what you want - so _we_ can do what we want, in the recording studio, on-stage - only to have the label fuck with us and dick us around every step of the way."

"I know," Bill says, his eyes soft. "That's why it's so important to have our time. Our boundaries, to keep that separate from _us._ "

Tom nods; takes a breath and brings his cigarette back to his lips. "We do, but..."

"I need it," Bill says, after Tom has trailed off and it's clear he's not going to pick up where he left off. "You know that I..."

Tom knows very well, because he's addicted, too. After the bullshit, after the passive-aggressive boardroom brawls, after the crap that they have to wade through to get to the stage, when they're up there playing their music and the roar of the crowd sweeps over them like a tide, there's nothing like that rush. It's the pulse in their blood, the marrow in their bones. It's beyond an addiction; it's what they do. It's their lives.

"I know," Tom replies, and hesitates to reach out. They haven't left yet, but he's falling into the usual pattern of safety, caution, when they're any place but the privacy of their home.

Bill's hand closes the gap between them and settles over Tom's hand where it lies flat on the table. "I love this," he says, and his face lights in the quick grin that's for Tom. His eyes crinkle at the corners in a real smile, tender, a little bit wondering that Tom still looks back at him in the same way. "I do; I love our getaway, I love being stashed away someplace with you for days, with no one else around who knows us or knows what we do for a living."

"Or what we _do_ ," Tom can't help but add with an impish quirk to his mouth.

Bill raises both brows. "God, I hope not," he says, and they both laugh. There are those that have their suspicions, they both know - Jost, Andi, maybe even their mother, probably Georg and Gustav - but they're a united front against any hint of implied impropriety. No one is privy to their truth.

Tom nods. "But we couldn't stay here forever," he says, and closes his eyes and inhales, accepting it.

Bill's hand tightens on his. "You want to stay now because you're relaxed and happy and we've had plenty of time to...you know."

Tom grins and licks reflexively at his lip ring. Oh, he knows. He loves the Maldives for that reason alone - all-access Bill. "Yeah," he says, lowering his head a bit. 

"But we couldn't stay away," Bill continues, as Tom begins to nod agreement. "You'd claw your own skin off from sheer boredom! I would explode after another week."

Tom laughs out loud at that. It's true. If it weren't for their hellishly packed schedules, keeping them up and on the go, they would go mad in short order. He remembers the days when they lived with their mother and had driven her nuts with all of the crazy shit they got up to. If they stay in one place for too long, they start scratching paint off the walls. Or Bill redecorates. Tom has anxiety attacks over the thought of Bill wielding a hammer.

"Maybe so," he says in the maddening way that makes Bill's hand curl around his, nails digging in. When it's the two of them, alone, he tends to resist agreeing outright with Bill, even when his twin is clearly in the right.

"You know so," Bill counters, and pulls his hand free of Tom's.

Tom grins a bit harder and brushes his thumb against the inside of Bill's wrist as his arm pulls back. "Finish up your breakfast."

Bill raises a challenging brow at him but grabs his fork, poking at his plate again. "You, too, then," he replies. Bill never takes well to being told what to do.

They eat in silence for several moments and Tom looks out over the water as Bill's bare toes work over his, playing footsie. Tom plies his fork over eggs and hash until fork tines scrape the plate and the anticipatory tension unwinds while he gazes out over layered jewel-tone blues beyond their little deck.

At length, Bill gets up and leaves his dishes behind, re-entering the bungalow. A glance and a smile pass between them. Bill doesn't have to say where he's going; Tom knows he's going to set off on his morning routine to finish getting ready.

"Hey," Tom says.

Bill pauses in the open doorway.

"No make-up?" Tom says hopefully.

Bill's lips turn up. "I'm still your Bill," he replies to that, and re-enters the quiet air-conditioned bungalow.

Tom stretches. He wants to linger, to keep them here for a little while longer where the only things they have to worry about are what time they'll have dinner, how much time they can spend on the deck without frying, and whether they've mislaid the lube. There's a calm centered place in him that he wants to keep forever, but Tom knows at the same time that their strength comes from the struggle, from screaming out everything they are. Bill craves the spotlight, he needs the attention, and even though he's always got Tom's, he wants _acclaim_.

And Tom enjoys the better parts of it, too. He can't lie to himself.

As he gazes out at the sun-splashed water, Tom lights up another cigarette. He spends it in long drags and reviews the myriad satisfactions of the past week. He's pleased to conclude, at length, that they've outdone themselves this year, as they did the year before, and the year before that.

Tom considers lighting another and catches sight of his hand twitching idly over his knee. He eyes it in bemusement, then mimes playing the opening chords to one of their songs – one he knows by heart, one that will never drop off their playlist.

He wouldn't give up their music for the world, either. It's not only Bill who's compelled to the stage.

Tom pushes aside his plate and stands, stretching again and scratching low on his belly. The dishes can stay out where they are; the cleaning staff will take care of everything after they've left. He casts a last, longing glance at the rolling blue-green swells of water and goes back into the bungalow. This time when he makes a circuit through the bungalow, there's only one thing he's missing. Tom is dressed and ready to go; now it's time to make sure Bill is reaching that state as well.

In the bedroom Bill is tugging a black t-shirt on, still in the process of getting it over his head. Tom goes straight to him and sets a hand to Bill's hip, bare where the jeans ride low, and grins at Bill's indignant noise.

"You ready?" Bill asks, when he's finished shimmying into his t-shirt and looks around the empty room. His clothes were laid out from the night before; their bags are packed and lined up beside the front door. They'd slept naked the night before, so Bill has no night clothes to stow away.

Tom tips his head to one side, scrunching his face up and making a noncommittal sort of grunt.

"We have to go back," Bill tells him, leaning in and digging a thumb into Tom's ribs, making Tom grunt again. "Not only because we have commitments, but...c'mon. You know I love it."

Which means Tom does, too.

"I know," Tom says, and pulls in a sigh. "And sometimes I think that's the only thing that keeps me going back."

Bill's eyes widen. "You want us to retire at twenty, Tomi? You want us to be done?" He looks somewhat panicked. They've talked about what they'd do if they weren't in Tokio Hotel, of course; not simply speculating for interviews but actually kicking around ideas of what would make Tom happy, what Bill could tolerate, what they could manage that would keep them together and not kill their souls. Tom thinks he would be happy behind the scenes, managing and producing Bill, if not for how much he really does love making music with Bill.

"No," Tom admits. "Not really. Just..."

"This is us, but we're more than just this," Bill says, stepping close to nuzzle his cheek to Tom's. "The good _and_ the bad, you know?"

Tom nods, dipping his head to inhale the clean scent of Bill, fresh from the shower without any cosmetic adornment yet. He knows. It doesn't make the other parts of their lives easier.

"Hey," Bill murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the side of Tom's head before ducking his head against Tom's neck and inhaling, mirroring Tom's gesture from a moment ago. Bill's hair is still damp and fragrant from the shower though he's gelled it back. "We'll never stop screaming."

He'd etched their promise onto his very body, as though they needed something tangible to remind them of their truth. Tom strokes a hand down along his side, fanning it out over the scrolling words of the tattoo they designed together, piecing together both their ideas into one sprawling design that sums up a huge part what they are.

Everything they are together. "We're going back to our roots," Tom agrees. Bill had told a reporter who'd asked after the meaning, once, that it was both something personal and something that would take years. That much was true; they planned on spending the rest of their lives in that journey.

Bill's answering grin is sharp and fierce. "You and me, now and forever," he replies.


End file.
